Pride: Spectrum
by Irhaboggles
Summary: Just like last year, I'm doing one story per day for Pride Month, only this year has a theme: the original Gilbert Baker Pride Flag! Every day is 1 of 8 colors or meanings tied to each stripe of the flag. Are you all ready for 20-bi-teen? Then let's go!
1. Glinda X Elphaba: Pink

**AN: Here's the next Pride Anthology from me (and also, my 300****th**** work!) I'm starting a day early because the way things are going to fall, I need 2 extra days to get everything out. This means that I'll also be finishing a day late. So I'm writing 32 fics instead of 30. It's because the theme for this year is the Pride Flag (The original one by Gilbert Baker in 1978 with 8 colors instead of 6. 8 divides into 32, not 30). **

**So here we go, the first color on the original Pride Flag: pink. **

"Honestly, Glinda, I don't understand how or why you stomach that much pink!" Elphaba snorted as she watched Glinda sort through their shared closet. It was not a 50/50 split, however, since Glinda's clothing was all so extravagant and full. Instead, it was more like 70/30, Glinda taking up far more of the closet with her poofy pink dresses than Elphaba did with her simple black frocks, which were very flat and small and shapeless. Elphaba continued to snicker and watch as Glinda continued to sort her dresses by shade. They were all pink though, so...

"Oh, Elphie! Do be quiet!" Glinda huffed as she held up two dresses that were nearly the same exact shade.

"Gee, how will you ever figure that one out?" Elphaba pretended to yawn while Glinda assessed the fabrics carefully.

"Hmmmm, this one is a cotton candy pink and this one is a carnation pink!" Glinda decided at last.

"Why not just call it Pink #1 and Pink #2?" Elphaba snickered again. "It's about the same thing."

"Oh no it is not!" Glinda pouted defensively. "There is a very particular and meticulous art to sorting out different shades and I happen to know quite a lot about the matter!" the little blond stuck her nose up in the air, as if such a skill was worth bragging about.

"Of course you would," Elphaba smirked. "Such a high-class and elegant academic pursuit is sure to-"

"Oh! Leave it alone Elphie!" Glinda snapped again, but just for a second, a flash of genuine hurt filled her eyes. She turned around quickly to face the closet again so Elphaba wouldn't see it.

"It's not as if _you_ would know anything about color coordination!" she huffed, looking at Elphaba's own black and bleak section of the closet.

"Well, I clash with everything," Elphaba deadpanned with a snort as she looked at her green skin. Glinda scoffed at her. That was not true! Hadn't they been over this before? But of course, stubborn Elphaba continued to insist that she went well with nothing, even though Glinda had since proven otherwise. As one with a keen eye for fashion, of course Glinda knew what did and didn't go with green! But Elphaba never listened.

For a few more minutes, there was only silence. Then Glinda heaved a satisfied sigh as she put her last (pink) dress away.

"Honestly, Glinda, would it kill you to wear something different?" Elphaba shook her head fondly at the little blond as she shut the closet again.

"Well, maybe, Ms. Elphaba, this color has significance for me. You ever think of that?" Glinda finally lost patience and challenged the green girl.

"What? That it symbolizes peak femininity and class?" Elphaba teased, but Glinda was dead serious when she nodded.

"Yes," she said, and the conviction was enough to make Elphaba pause. Then Glinda explained.

"As a little girl, I did used to wear more than one color," she began.

"Wish I could've been around to see it. Don't know if I believe you otherwise," Elphaba interrupted with a dry laugh.

"Because I was told by everyone that pink was a _girly _color," Glinda continued, shooting Elphaba a glare for interrupting. "Even though I and all the rest of them were girls, we continued to treat pink as a bad color, like a poison! No pink! Never pink! It was a rule at my school. Only _girls _wore pink! Everyone else avoided it at all costs," Glinda's face contorted with bitterness at the memory while Elphaba's contorted in confusion.

"But if you and all your friends were girls, then what did they mean by "pink is a girl color"?" she asked, genuinely confused.

"They didn't mean "girl" as in "female". They meant "girl" as in "weak"!" Glinda explained, seething and hurt. "Being a girl became the same as being weak, breakable and stupid. It was a crime against female empowerment and feminism to indulge in pink, or anything feminine," Glinda continued to rant. "The other girls at my school bullied me for wearing pink because, in their eyes, it was a cardinal sin. Only stereotypical or weak women wore pink, because to wear pink meant to submit to the patriarchy, never mind that I _wanted _to wear pink! But in their eyes, good, strong women never wore pink. They wore anything but. They could wear guy colors, or neutral colors, but never, ever girl colors. Never pink..."

Glinda's rant ended with an unhappy sigh and Elphaba found herself unintentionally following along with the story. Though she, herself, had never been one interested in gender roles or rules and even though she, herself, personally identified as gender neutral/androgynous (though she didn't mind referring to herself, or letting others refer to her, as a woman) Elphaba began to see where Glinda was coming from. It was notoriously bad to be a woman in society, and even worse to be a feminine one.

Elphaba, herself, had met a handful of girls who turned up their noses at the prospect of being called girly, as if it was the worst insult in all of Oz. But being tough and masculine was lauded as good, powerful and progressive. It was the only thing Elphaba ever had going for her back at home, since she was very far from feminine. It had never occurred to her that it might've been something someone was picked on for, because it was never what she was bullied about. But to see Glinda standing there, ranting and hurt, reliving all the times when she was mocked or discredited for her love of pink, made Elphaba realize...

To Glinda, pink wasn't just pretty. It was brave. It wasn't just femininity. It was pride in being feminine. Pink wasn't just a comfort color that looked good on her, it was her self-expression and symbol of self-love. It wasn't just something stereotypical, but rather, it was quite the opposite: it was her own form of empowerment and choice. Pink was nothing to scoff at in Glinda's book, but that was because pink had quite the history in her life... Elphaba instantly felt bad for ever teasing Glinda about her wardrobe, or her indulgences in the feminine world. She had no right to judge others for the way they looked or acted when she, herself, was often bullied for that very same thing.

Elphaba realized that she shouldn't be tearing people down, she ought to be building them up! There was no such thing as a good or right or bad or wrong woman. There was just Woman. And she always deserved support, no matter what form she chose to present herself in. Even if Elphaba didn't understand the feminine world, that gave her no right to deride or disdain it. She owed it to Women and to her own moral code to support all women, masculine, feminine, both, neither, somewhere in between or outside, or someone who was some mix of all of the above.

24 hours later, the two were in the same position as before, only this time, Elphaba had a present for Glinda.

"Really? What is it?!" she asked excitedly as she took the parcel from Elphaba's hands. She tore it open and her eyes lit up. It was a large pride flag, but it only contained one color: pink. Each stripe was a different shade of pink, the outer stripes being very dark and the center being almost white. Squealing with glee at the realization that there was a pride flag out there that was pink, Glinda wasted no time in donning it like a cape and dancing around the room in ecstasy.

"Elphie! You are the BEST!" she declared, then she jumped right onto Elphaba's bed and kissed her passionately with gratitude. By the time she tore away, returning to dancing around their dorm room like a madwoman, Elphaba was no longer green, but a very dark black, but all she could see at the moment was pink. And then Elphaba decided that, to her, pink symbolized love.

**AN: So, kicking off Pride Month yet again, we have my original gay pairing: Gelphie! Also, sorry if this seemed a bit preachy, but I won't lie that when I was a kid, it was considered weak and girly to wear pink. In hindsight, that was a really sexist thing for us to believe. But that was the law at my school. Pink girls were stereotypical and weak. Strong girls didn't embrace such feminine things (*horrified gasp*)**

**I saw a post once that spelled it out pretty well: "Whenever someone starts to embrace the color pink, they are starting to embrace self-love and self-actualization, by not treating the color as some sort of poison to be avoided or feared or mocked" and that really hit me deep. Maybe the wording is a bit dramatic and sappy, but the sentiment at the core is something I honestly agree with. **

**Besides, anyone who knows their gay history knows that pink has had a very interesting relationship not just with gender, but with sexuality. And anyone who knows the history of the Pride Flag itself knows that Gilbert may have gotten inspiration from Judy Garland's "Somewhere Over the Rainbow". In case you didn't already realize that Oz was super gay, here's even more proof! LOL! **

**(I promise the next fic won't be so preachy!)**


	2. Emily X Captain Jolie Rogue: Red

Emily found it funny. She was a girl with no name and yet, at the same time, she had so many. Sometimes she was Emily-with-a-Y (as opposed to the rarer spelling of "Emilie", which was a name that often haunted her dreams, as though she were peering into the future, looking through the eyes of another woman in another world in another time, yet still very much in the same position as she was in today). Sometimes she was Emily-with-No-Last-Name because she had no family to speak of (and no family who would speak for her). Sometimes she was Em, when playful old Veronica was flirting with her. Sometimes she was "My Queen" or "My Lady" when she was being addressed by the very formal leader of the Plague Rats, Sir Edward. Sometimes she was "ma'am" or "missy" when sarcastically addressed by the monsters in charge of this Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls. Sometimes, she was "slut" or "harlot" or "whore", when being degraded and defined by the cruel society which had cast her out and away into the Asylum in the first place. Sometimes she was Just Emily, when no other name could be given, or when nobody could be bothered to call her by anything other than her uncreative first name. But to one, and only one, she was Valentine.

To Captain Jolie Rogue, the unofficial leader of the Asylum Inmates, Emily was not Emily, but Valentine.

"For the heart-shaped scar on your cheek," she had muttered once, when Emily asked about it. "And for your bright red hair..." though the Captain had sounded a bit more envious when she mentioned Emily's hair. Emily took note and wondered why. The Captain had gorgeous flowing locks of her own, long, thick and dark. Her locks managed to remain luscious and luxurious despite the Hell in which all of them lived. They flowed down her back like a dark river. But for some reason, although Jolie did very much prize her own hair, it was Emily's that fascinated her the most.

"I have never seen such color before," she breathed and marveled softly, taking handfuls of Emily's scarlet hair and curling and dropping it over and over again, playing with it and reveling in the feeling of it on her skin. It was light and soft. And it was so-

"Red. So, so red," Jolie even tilted her head and offered up a smile. Emily had been in this nightmare for nearly five years and she was certain that this was the first time she'd ever seen Jolie do that. And from the look on the faces of several other inmates, it was the first time they had seen Jolie smile too. Already, just getting to hear her talk was to startling and new, because the girl had practically taken a vow of silence, often going long periods of time without ever uttering a sound. Only when it was absolutely necessary did she speak, but now here she was, indulging in that long-forgotten luxury, and using some of her rare and precious words to compliment Emily, and her bright, blinding red hair.

Then she turned the little redhead around to face her, unreadable eyes raking over every inch of her.

"The heart, the scar," she mumbled, shyly reaching out to touch it. But for a second, in a look that only Emily could see, there was fear and concern and vulnerability in Jolie's normally-stoic gray eyes. A silent request for consent. Could she touch Emily's scar? Emily was almost taken aback by such a question. She never allowed anyone else to touch the scar. In fact, she scarcely even touched it herself! But to see Jolie asking, waiting, so very patient and polite, Emily found it impossible to deny. So she turned her cheek slightly, offering it up to her Captain.

"Red, so red," she murmured as she traced it, tilting her head again as she inspected it. "So perfect..." and it was. Though it was a scar, it was such a perfect shape that some inmates originally thought Emily had done it to herself, as some sort of act of defiance or madness (they were both the same though, weren't they?). They had considered it a tattoo, at least until Emily had been able to explain.

No. This heart-shaped scar was not a tattoo, but a war wound gained in a fight where she attempted first to regain her life, then to take it. She had lost both battles, but she still wore the scar with pride. Even though she gained it in two failures, she considered it a symbol not of defeat, but of spirit. She had fought long and hard and even though she had lost, the scar stood more as a testament to her attempt at fighting and her subsequent survival than it did to the direct outcome of the two battles (first against the sick, twisted Count de Rothsberg, then against herself, both terrible and hideous enemies who had beaten her soundly, but not before she managed to get a few good blows in herself).

Now Jolie sat here, gently touching and tracing it. She knew what it meant to her precious little Valentine. She knew that the scar was no ordinary scar, but a symbol of courage and survival. She knew it because she, too, had seen battle. And she had seen scars, and loss, and pain, and defeat. And she too had culled up a symbol from the ashes, a burning reminder not of her loss, but of her will to live. It was not a scar like Emily's, but she still had it. It was why she so intuitively and instinctively understood what that heart-shaped mark on Valentine' face meant to Valentine. She too bore a wound from a war, which she used not to brand her shame, but to decorate and laud her courage and strength in battle.

And Emily knew that Jolie knew. It was why she was allowing the Captain to touch the scar. Because although every girl in this hellhole Asylum knew what war and battle and death and hatred looked like, only she and the Captain truly understood the symbolism behind a scar gained in battle, especially if it was a lost battle. It was a bond they shared that no one else in the entire madhouse had. It was what set them apart.

"You are just like me," Jolie had mused in one of the few times she ever spoke. "A scarred and broken fighter and survivor. You even bear the mark!" and from that first cryptic sentence onward, the two had been like kindred spirits, bonded by something even deeper than love or romance or desire. They were bonded by life, death and the delicate and changing balance between the two. They were bonded though suffering and humanity, the only things on par with love. But even if it was hatred and war that bonded them, it was love that sustained them.

"Red, my Valentine is red," Jolie whispered as she held Emily close that night. Even though Jolie never slept, eternally honor-bound to be wakeful during the resting hours so that she could watch over her sleeping fellow inmates, she still cradled Emily to sleep every single night.

"She is red like the sun in the morning and evening, red like the blood shed on the battlefield, red like the heart beating in my chest, just for her," the Captain hummed absentmindedly as she rocked the younger girl to sleep. "Your face and your hair and your heart and your very soul are red. They are strong and bright and powerful and stained. You are red..." and Emily was lulled to sleep by the Captain's gentle touch. For one as prickly and distant as she, there was a lot of protectiveness, care and sacrifice within her. She was a beautiful soul in a broken body, Emily just wished that the outside could've matched the inside, for if it did, she was certain that Jolie would be the most beautiful woman in the universe.

And the very next day, after breakfast, Emily slipped something into the Captain's hand. A tiny scrap of paper. To a normal, sane, person, it would've been a rather pathetic gift, but because Jolie knew how much paper meant to Emily (for paper could be used for writing and drawing, a luxury none of them could afford anymore, yet indulged in whenever possible anyway, just to retain some of their old humanity) she accepted the paper with great grace and care. She would value it forever, because she knew how much sacrifice lay within it, puny though it was.

What lay inside was even more precious than the paper itself. It was a red crayon, one of her Valentine's most prized possessions. And it was fairly new, meaning that Valentine must've loved her an awful lot to part with such a precious and fresh trinket. And on the paper, written in red, read, "Oh Captain, my Captain, how dearly do I love thee. Were it within my power, I would take you and me, off to sail all seven seas..."

Jolie's heart melted as she read that little poem, admiring the poorly-drawn boat under it. She slipped the paper into her paper pirate hat and it remained there for all the rest of her days. Even after the paper and message had faded away, one thing always remained the same: Red.

"My Valentine, my red. You are so red, so very red, and so very beautiful... I love you so..." and it was the only time Jolie ever confessed her love for anyone. Valentine returned it in full. Her sweet, precious, lovely, loving, little, red Valentine.

**AN: The one problem I have with Emilie Autumn's amazing book "The Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls" is that I legit cannot choose a ship, because every possible ship is pure gold and everyone is so shippable. I hate her for making it impossible for me to choose just one ship. That being said, this is one out of several more EA ships I'll be writing about this month (seriously, I ship Emily with everyone, and I cannot decide who she fits best with). Hope you enjoyed this first ship! (Legit, I recommend the book. It's on Amazon and you can listen to EA's musical accompaniments on YouTube. She is amazing and the story is worth every penny and every song)**


	3. Clover X Peter: Orange

Orange. It was not a color that he thought very much about. And it was not a very common color either. Sure, it was the second one in the rainbow, but all things considered, it wasn't a very popular or well-talked about one. Usually, colors like red, blue, black, white, silver, gold or pink were the ones that people talked about. But not orange. Never orange. That was one that usually sat on the backburner, forgotten or ignored in favor of the other, more common colors of the rainbow. And for the longest time, he had no opinion on the color. It was a bit bright and loud, and maybe even obnoxious, but that was about all he said to say on that matter. Then _she_ appeared...

The first thing he ever noticed about her was orange. The very first thing he ever noticed about her was the color orange, and how well it seemed to fit her, and how encapsulating and iconic it was as her signature color. First and foremost, there was her hair, a bright orange. The world would call her a redhead or a ginger, but in his mind, her hair was more than just that. It really was orange, well and truly. No other word could describe it better. It was too bright and blinding to just be red or ginger. It was orange. It was long, smooth and straight. It was often kept in a simple ponytail that hung casually down her back. It was not plaited or braided or decorated, but the color alone was beautiful enough. It burned like a firebrand in the midday sun. It lit up his whole world and from that very first look on that very first day, that had been all that he could see. Nothing else would dazzle him quite so much ever again.

But orange was not only in her hair. It was also in her face and her smile. She laughed quite a lot, and she was very kind, gentle, happy and bubbly. Although she was shy and awkward, she knew how to be charming and endearing and funny. She laughed a lot, and her pale skin was often aglow from some sort of blush or another. Whether it was one of shyness, embarrassment, amusement or exhaustion after another fantastic day exploring and adventuring, a bright color always seemed to dust her face. He knew that it was red, it was a blush after all, but to him, it still looked orange. Especially underneath the adorable smatter of freckles that dotted cross her pale face.

But orange wasn't only on her face. It was also in her wardrobe. She had a good sense of humor, and though she wore a rainbow of things, she had several orange outfits as well. Her favorite jacket was bright orange, the exact same shade as her hair. It was almost blinding, but he could not look away. Nor did he want to. It might've been an overload of orange, but when it was on her, he was more than ok with it. He found it adorable, regardless of whether or not she was wearing it to be ironic, or if she honestly liked having that much orange on herself all at once.

But orange wasn't only in her wardrobe. It was in her very soul, bright and beautiful.

"Hey? Are you ok?" one of the first times that they had ever spoken happened when he found himself trying hard not to cry or throw a fit. He was a transman and in the process of transitioning. He was on testosterone at the moment and even though the T was exactly what was helping him feel better about himself and move one step closer to his desired male body, it also sometimes felt like the cause of all of his problems as well, oxymoronic and paradoxical as that sounded. But it was true! Even though the T was like his ambrosia, it was also like a poison. He seemed to suffer from mood swings more often than normal, even for a FTM transperson on T. And it was those mood swings that made him so grumpy and irritable, even though things were going well for him at the moment.

Such was the case today. For some reason, he felt unreasonably frustrated. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was a restlessness burning in his blood. The entire feeling felt like the color orange: bright, loud and obnoxious. A pest that refused to go away. A brightness that refused to stop burning. Something he could not get rid of, nor ignore. Then _she _appeared... And suddenly, orange was no longer a blinding or bullyish color. Instead, it was the most gorgeous and hopeful one he'd ever seen. Though it took him a while to see it...

"Hey? Are you ok?" her voice had been so soft and gentle when she'd asked, having accidently stumbled upon him sitting outside the Camp Heath hospital and looking downtrodden and pent up at the same time. It was enough to shock him out of his undue anger.

"What? Huh? Oh! Yeah! I'm fine," he stuttered, clearly lying. But because he didn't know what else to say or do, it was all he could think of. He continued to stare at the ground, both too nervous and too disinterested to meet her eyes. But she wasn't one to back down.

"Are you worried too?" she had asked, and he genuinely had no idea what she was talking about.

"I don't know what you mean," he grumbled at her.

"About Iris and Storm," the girl elaborated. He almost laughed. Clearly, there was something going on in her world, and she had somehow mistakenly assumed that he was a part of it, that he somehow knew who those two people were and was acting moody because of them.

"Afraid not," he grunted rudely.

"Oh," at least she caught on quickly, realizing that his issues did not revolve around "Iris and Storm" though the latter name did sound familiar...

"I am sorry," she apologized next, seeming to realize how rude she sounded, assuming that he was worried about the same thing she was. And she also seemed to realize that she had been projecting a little, hoping to find someone to talk to, even if that someone was an unwilling stranger who did not want her to unload all of her baggage onto himself. At least she had the grace to realize this and apologize.

"Mmm," he replied, unsure of whether or not he was being snarky or sincere with his own reply. He wondered briefly if she would just get up and leave now. But she didn't. Instead, she had the audacity to change the conversation around on _him_ and ask _him_ about _his_ life instead. Boy, was this girl looking for a distraction!

"Might I be so bold as to inquire what has gotten you so down?" she asked, rather clunkily and awkwardly. It was enough to make him pause, just because he was put off by such a beat-around-the-bush way of speaking. "I mean, I know it's none of my business, but if there's something you felt like _you _needed to talk about, I'd be happy to listen, or help, if I can..."

And even though that first offer had been a bit... awkward, this random stranger girl offering to listen to all of his troubles, he found her tone and offer so tempting that he ultimately accepted and explained.

"I'm a transguy," he said. "And I'm on testosterone right now. The mood swings have been hitting kinda hard lately and I haven't been really feeling... myself... of late. Ironic as that sounds," he paused to offer up a harsh laugh, still staring hard at the ground. His T shots were supposed to help him feel more like himself than he had ever felt before in his entire life, yet at the moment, they seemed to be doing just the opposite, making him feel very antsy, upset and out of place.

"The mood swings... aren't very fun. And I haven't been myself recently. I've just been... angry. And frustrated. And sometimes it gets really bad and I just want to punch something. But other times, it's more like that grudging sort of anger, where you're mad, but in calmer way. If that makes any sense at all," in his attempt to try and explain to her, he accidentally began to actually open up to her and unload. And she let him, genuinely interested in hearing about his issues, and if there was something she could do to help.

By the end of it, he felt much better, but now a new feeling nagged at him.

"I'm sorry I was so rude with you earlier," he muttered, genuinely ashamed of his behavior. "Why don't you talk to me now? And tell me what's wrong? It's only fair, since I've just unloaded so much crap onto you."

"Nonsense! Don't be silly!" she insisted. "I _offered _to listen, so I don't mind! And even though I'm not trans, I really am sorry you have to be going through this. I know that a phrase like that isn't very effective at solving anything, but I want you to know that I genuinely think that it sucks to have to go through this kind of BS just to transition. Your T shots should be helping! Not hurting!"

She continued to empathize with him. It actually managed to work and, slowly but surely, he began to feel better. As she continued to offer validity to his suffering and as she continued to mention some of the things she'd done in the past to help with her own emotional issues (which she repeatedly promised was not her way of claiming to be a trans expert, or compare his situation with her own, as a cis-gendered female) he began feeling lighter and brighter.

"-and I remember one of my friends mentioning several online groups that kind of act as a group therapy," she continued as she listed off another suggestion. He didn't have the heart to tell her that he already knew and was part of that very group. Instead, he took her offer with hearty thanks, just reveling in her kind words and gentle voice. He still hadn't even looked at her yet, eyes glued to the ground as he listened, hypnotized, to her lovely voice and all of its well-meant suggestions.

"And of course, you can always talk to me," she finished at last.

"You really mean that?" he asked back, genuinely surprised by such an offer.

"Of course!" she promised. "Again, even though I may not be trans myself and even though I am in no way a trans expert, I'm still willing to listen, and I do have trans friends I can hook you up with!" she continued to offer humbly, and he finally began to smile. It was the realest and fullest one he'd had in a few days now.

"Thank you," he said at last. "It really means a lot to me..." and then he finally looked up. He finally saw her face. He finally took her all in. And the first thing he saw... was orange. Bright and beautiful, warm and sunny. And for the first time ever, he saw it as a symbol of warmth and hope and light, instead of an obnoxious and overbearing color of the rainbow. He never imagined that orange would've ever been synonymous with gentleness in his book, yet this girl had somehow managed to do it. Her hair was so orange, and it looked so soft and gentle, just like her...

"What is your name?" he finally asked, voice sounding softer than it had in days. There was true interest in it now as he finally inspected the girl that he had been talking to for the past 20 minutes. She was so beautiful. And her hair was so bright and startling and eye-catching, but in a good way, like a gentle fire in a hearth. It wasn't loud or overbearing at all. It was... gentle... strange as that sounded. And he was enchanted.

"Clover," she replied simply, extending a hand to shake. "And yours?"

"Peter," he answered, a genuine smile tugging at his lips. Then he took her proffered hand, shook it warmly, and the rest was history.

**AN: Just a rambly little one-shot about a minor pairing in my original story, "Seeing Purple". **


	4. Ravenpaw X Barley: Yellow

The sun glowed a yellow so bright that it almost looked white as it shined down from an azure sky, its mighty rays warming the earth and bringing it steadily into another beautiful summer day. All around the abandoned barn, wildlife stirred. Mice ran to and fro, insects buzzed through the air, the occasional frog hopped on by. But there was one lifeform, larger than all the aforementioned, that wasn't moving at all. Instead, he lay lazily in the barn's entrance, just basking in the sun's heavenly light. It was Ravenpaw, the ex-member of ThunderClan. Although there were days when he missed the clan and although there were days when he missed the life of a warrior, days like today reminded him just how lovely it was to live as a loner. It was so much freer, easier and happier. No duties or responsibilities or obligations, just eternal bliss...

"Having fun?" someone teased the young black cat. Ok, so maybe he didn't live entirely alone. His one other companion in life was a fellow loner, the cat who essentially owned the barn. His name was Barley. Ravenpaw's eyes had been shut while he was basking lazily in the sun, but when he heard his companion's voice teasing him from above, two large amber orbs shot open, and his little black head tilted backward. There, balancing easily on the old rafters of the barn, was Barley, grinning down at him, eyes twinkling even in the shadows.

"Well I was... until you showed up," Ravenpaw meowed playfully. He could hear Barley hissing above him in mock indignation.

"Well, I never!" he harrumphed softly, but loud enough that Ravenpaw could still hear him. Then without another thought, he leapt from the rafters, landing gracefully a mere inch away from Ravenpaw.

"You know that trick won't work on me anymore," the smaller tom joked. Back when he had first moved into this barn with Barley, a few months ago now, Barley had tried to scare him by jumping off the barn roof. Then when that first trick wore off, Ravenpaw discovering how light, agile and balanced Barley really was, Barley made it a habit of his to randomly jump very close to whenever Ravenpaw was standing, to give the illusion that he was one day just going to drop down from the sky and smash straight in to Ravenpaw.

Ravenpaw had become accustomed to this trick as well, even though it often sent him hissing and spitting the first few times Barley would suddenly just fall right in front of him. The very first time it ever happened, he yowled Barley's ears off, accusing him of nearly squishing him flat. Now, though, he didn't even bat an eye. Though he used to be a very skittish tomcat, those days and the cause of his nervousness were long gone. He knew Barley would never hurt him, so he no longer jumped every time the other black cat suddenly, literally, dropped in to say hello.

"Awww! You're no fun!" Barley pretended to pout. "I thought I had invited a _nice _cat to live with me in the barn!"

"You did, you're just so cruel that you had no idea what real niceness looked like," Ravenpaw tilted his head and twitched his little ears in amusement as Barley bristled at him playfully.

"Come on, you lazy sack of bones!" the larger cat commanded, referring to how naturally skinny Ravenpaw was. "Get off your tail and let's go!"

"Go?" now Ravenpaw was genuinely confused. "Where?"

"For a run! Of course!" Barley flicked his tail impatiently as he turned towards the entrance way. "It's such a lovely day!"

"But I was going to stay in and sun!" Ravenpaw flopped back onto his side dramatically. "It's such a lovely day! Why waste it outside? Running around and getting all hot and messy! I would rather just say here and relax and take it all in!"

"And you used to be a warrior cat?" Barley snickered in mock disbelief as Ravenpaw shut his eyes contentedly again.

"You and I both know that I was never one for that kind of life!" Ravenpaw snorted back, still on his side with his eyes shut.

"I can see why!" the barn cat raised a paw to step on Ravenpaw's tail. The smaller cat, eyes still shut, didn't even see it coming.

"Yeeeeeeooooowww!" he shrieked, sent straight up into the air.

"Kit," Barley snickered. He hadn't hit Ravenpaw that hard. Ravenpaw had fluffed up in indignation.

"I hope you're happy!" he complained, wide awake now. "You ruined my mid-morning nap!"

"Oh, come on, Ravenpaw! Learn to live a little! Let's get out of this dingy, dark old place and go explore!" Barley pleaded. Even though the barn was like his kingdom and even though he was a cat who knew how to relax and indulge in the utmost of leisurely activates, Barley still enjoyed getting out and seeing the sun every once in a while. The barn was nice and all, but so was surrounding farm! Even though it was terribly overgrown and no longer inhabited. But in his mind, that was what made it all the more fun!

"Come on," he pleaded again. "Please?" and there was a new softness and earnestness in his wide eyes as he asked. Ravenpaw caught onto it and saw the sincerity in Barley's eyes and decided to comply.

"Alright," Ravenpaw pretended to heave a martyred sigh, but secretly, he was thrilled. Even though he really had hoped to spend the entire day just lying around in the sun's yellow rays, he couldn't deny that a day spent exploring the land with Barley sounded really fun. Though honestly, any day spent with Barley was a golden one in Ravenpaw's amber eyes. Barley was Ravenpaw's happiest memory, and even though he was a black and white cat, Ravenpaw saw nothing but yellow when he was with Barley. And that yellow only grew even more intense once he and Barley left the darkened barn for the bright outdoors.

Yellow straw, yellow flowers, yellow corn, yellow fruit, yellow stones, yellow earth, yellow sun. Yellow, yellow, yellow, and Ravenpaw basked in it all. The most glorious yellow, though, to him, was the aura that seemed to surround him and Barley both, and it only grew stronger and stronger with every paw step they ran together, sometimes running side by side and sometimes engaging in a small game of chase. Ravenpaw might not have been a warrior apprentice anymore, but he was still very strong and fast. But Barley wasn't just some random loner, he was a farm cat. This land was his domain and he knew all the ins and outs of it, so he was able to give Ravenpaw a pretty good run, weaving in and out of the rows and rows of plants, ducking in and out of sight tauntingly.

But Ravenpaw never grew frustrated with how surprisingly skilled an opponent Barley was. Instead, every time he lost the tom, he would only laugh. And then the moment the tom reappeared seconds later, he would smile. He had been serious when he said that Barley was his happiest memory, and that any time with Barley was well spent. It was just the two of them, alone together, the barn behind them and the warm yellow fields beneath them, straw and flowers lining the way. Only the bright yellow sun was there to witness their little playdate on that warm summer day, and if it had been capable, it would've smiled at them. The yellow aura seemed to surround the two tomcats until the black and white faded away completely, their pelts literally being stained by the sun, a bright, warm, glowing yellow.

**AN: As a fan of the Warriors cats (especially Ravenpaw) this HAD to happen, because he and Barley are an old married couple 1000%!**


	5. Glinda X Elphaba: Green

Glinda grunted in frustration as she struggled to get her little limbs up and over and around and through all the confusing and twisting branches of the trees just outside her and Elphaba's dorm room. Why in Oz she had agreed to this she would never know. All she knew was that, one minute, she was listening to Elphaba goading her into going tree-climbing, and the next, it was actually happening. While Elphaba scaled the tree with a terrifying speed, precision, accuracy and balance, almost like a squirrel as she darted through the green leaves, Glinda had struggled and sweated the entire way up, hauling herself up hand over hand as she tried to keep her grip... and her balance. And it was especially hard because she was weaving through nothing but green leaves. She was overrun by the color and it was next to impossible to differentiate between one step and the next. It all looked the same. Nothing but endless green. Green, green, green.

The young blond was panting hard by the time she finally reached the uppermost limbs of the tree and her arms, legs and hands were on fire. She fought the urge to look down. Elphaba, meanwhile, was still weaving expertly through the emerald foliage.

"C'mon, Glinda!" she called over her shoulder as she continued to walk along the branches like a cat, unwavering and unafraid.

"Give me a sec!" Glinda complained, placing a hand to her chest before she trundled on, continuing to injure herself on small, pointy branches as she continued to climb after Elphaba, further and further away from the safety and comfort of their dorm room.

At last, then, Elphaba finally stopped.

"Well, it's about time!" Glinda huffed and puffed. "Where even are we? And why did we have to go through all that just to-" but Elphaba responded by pushing some of the tree leaves aside and Glinda's complaints died in her mouth at once.

"Woah!" all she could do was gasp as she was met with an Arcadian Eden rolling out in front of her like a dream. For as far as the eye could see, there was nothing but nature and wildlife in its prime, an untamed and elegant beauty for the eye to gorge itself on. Trees, flowers, grass, plants, leaves shrubs. They all decorated a sea of bright green grass, the varying shades of emerald immeasurable. For the second time that day, Glinda was overrun by the color green.

"Sure is beautiful, ain't it?" Elphaba asked smugly as she continued to hold the leaves aside for Glinda to marvel at the scene before them. Glinda could only nod like an idiot. Elphaba laughed at her before she began to inch her way down the tree. Glinda followed her, almost in a trance.

"I mean, it's no Emerald City, but hey, it's still nice!" Elphaba continued to joke as she shimmied on down the tree.

"Well, it may not be _the _Emerald City, but it's _an _Emerald City," Glinda said as she continued to follow Elphaba down, but it wasn't until they were both back on solid ground that Glinda began to realize just how apt her remark had been. It really was a beautiful landscape and, in its own way, it really was just like the Emerald City. There was a second, in fact, when Glinda almost dared say that _this_ Emerald City beat the one residing within the heart of Oz. But either version of the EC, official or natural, was covered in nothing but green. Green, green, green.

Once the two were on the ground again, Elphaba wasted no time and yanking off her dirty old black boots and burying her feet in the soft green sea. She let out an exhale and looked so enraptured that Glinda quickly discarded her own heels with an uncharacteristically dismissive toss.

"Ohhh! It is nice!" she muttered as she felt the green blades of grass poke up pleasurably between her toes.

"Isn't it? My own little slice of paradise..." Elphaba repeated, suddenly looking so different than the surly girl she usually was. The transformation that seemed to come over her enraptured Glinda as much as this little wild sanctuary enraptured Elphaba.

Elphaba had always been a more masculine female, disinterested in stereotypically girly activities and styles. To some, it was wrong and backwards. As a woman, she wasn't supposed to be so unfeminine. But to others, like Glinda and a small other few who loved Elphaba just as she was, this dichotomy was fascinating and attractive. Although Glinda had been a bit put off by it at first, she had come to love all of Elphaba's little quirks and tics and this was one of them: her more masculine behaviors and fashions. As she stood in this serene little piece of nature, however, surrounded by green for as far as the eye could see, she seemed to glow, practically radiating and reflecting all the gorgeous plant life all around them. Her skin seemed to brighten several shades and the ill-tempered expression of hers had faded into one of true serenity.

Gone was the dark, brooding and mean Elphaba. Gone was the distant and emotionless girl who liked to snicker and scoff at life and everyone who had one. Instead, out had come the quiet, pensive girl who liked to dream and to thin. Out had come the one who was unafraid to smile and marvel at life's wonders and beauties. She slowly sank down into the soft grass, reclining in it and shutting her eyes with a satisfied hum. Still staring at her, Glinda quickly did the same. Then she began to scoot ever closer to Elphaba as they continued to bask in their endless field of emeralds. Glinda could see rose bushes, their scarlet buds peeking out of bright green stems and leaves. She could see green apples hanging over their heads alongside verdant, vibrant leaves.

At one point, then, the young woman turned her head. She had heard the soft and gentle trickle of nearby water and managed to trace the sound to a small creek only a few feet away. She sat up just enough to take a good look at it. The water was a soft viridescent, dark green moss covering both sides of the small bank. She could even see a few dark shapes dipping in and out of it. One of those shapes was a large frog, bright green and full of life as it hopped in and out of the waters.

"I've dipped my toes in that creek a few times," Elphaba said, startling Glinda slightly. "It's a really lovely little thing, surprisingly warm."

Then she got up slowly, rolling over onto her stomach before pushing herself up as her fingers buried themselves into the soft green earth. Glinda followed after her, feeling heavy and light at the same time. The pair perched delicately upon two large round stones, smooth and flat, before dipping their toes into the water.

"Oooh! You're right!" Glinda couldn't stop a giggle, surprised at how un-cold the water really felt.

"Told you," Elphaba grinned as she stuck her feet in right alongside Glinda's, playfully kicking some water at the girl's shins.

"Hey!" Glinda pretended to shriek in outrage, but she and Elphaba both laughed. That was another thing Glinda was enchanted by: Elphaba's laugh. Although it was a rare sound to hear, and usually laced with some sort of sarcasm, sharpness or bitterness (which made it sound more like a bark or a cackle than a laugh) every once in a blue moon, Elphaba would utter real and deep, hearty laugh that came from the chest and throat. This was one of those times. It was deep and broad and satisfying, very full and rich. Glinda's own giggle became high-pitched with nervousness as she listened to Elphaba's low but genuine laugh.

To distract herself, Glinda ran a hand back and forth over the stone she was sitting on, its perfectly smooth surface comforting her.

"Ah, so you've caught on to my little trick!" Elphaba muttered, seeing Glinda stroking the rocks and misunderstanding why she was doing it.

"What?" Glinda asked, but then she pretended quickly that she understood what Elphaba had said, bluffing as she nodded.

"Yeah," an uncharacteristically sheepish smile flickered across her usually-scowling face. "I've wanted to bring you here for quite some time and now I finally managed to pluck up the courage to do so. But of course I knew your highness would want some place nicer to sit than a wet and muddy riverbank, so..." Elphaba trailed off with a smirk as she gestured to the stones beneath them. Glinda had to bite back a noise of surprise, missing Elphaba little jibe in her shock.

So these stones hadn't been natural, but rather, something Elphaba had dragged out because she'd been planning to bring Glinda here? It made sense, but Glinda hadn't even considered that. It was just dumb luck and a slight misunderstanding that led to Elphaba wrongly interpreting Glinda's fascination with the stones. But the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Convenient, wasn't it? To have two large smooth stones sitting nicely on the riverbank, perfect as chairs, close enough to the water to allow someone to dip their feet into it, but not close enough to get wet or mossy or muddy. Glinda should've seen the signs earlier, but she'd been so distracted by this newer, happier, freer Elphaba to even notice. But now that she did, she suddenly felt her face turning red.

"Wait, you mean you've wanted to bring me here for a while now? For how long? And why?" she asked.

"Ever since we first started becoming friends," Elphaba replied. "I found this place not long after coming to Shiz. I found it while trying to get away from some of the more... belligerent students," she paused to grin wryly and Glinda instantly felt embarrassed, but before she could apologize, Elphaba continued to speak, this refusal to let Glinda apologize for her past sins acting as Elphaba's way to show that she'd long-since forgiven Glinda for those earlier days of loathing.

"This place became my sanctuary and Heaven," Elphaba continued. "And after we became friends I wanted to show you it, because I felt like you deserved to see it too. You had become my second sanctuary, so I wanted to introduce you to the first. But I was still too shy..." the young witch paused, scratching the back of her neck embarrassedly. It was so odd to see her like this, but Glinda was too invested in the story to care.

"What changed your mind?" she asked, genuinely interested and flattered to think that this was a secret of Elphaba's that only she knew, and that it was one Elphaba had actually wanted to share with her. (There was one other secret Glinda knew about Elphaba, but that wasn't quite the same as this one because that one had been goaded out of Elphaba and Glinda had been totally drunk that night). But this secret had been freely given, and Elphaba had wanted her to like it, unlike the other secret, which she had confessed through clenched teeth. The thought made Glinda's heart melt, both with pride and affection. It honored and flattered her to think about how much Elphaba really did care for her, even if she hid it under a very prickly façade.

"Well, you know, this place is kind of my Eden," Elphaba muttered, growing quieter and quieter with every word. "And now I think it really is the best time to tell you because, as you might know, Eden was not inhabited by one human alone. Instead, he had a companion made for him, and they lived in the garden together, as a married couple... I mean, granted, he was a man and his partner was a woman, but you know, we can't get it perfect all the time," she added with a stutter, clearly painfully nervous at the moment.

Then before Glinda could think up a response, or even really digest what Elphaba had just said, Elphaba had suddenly leaned in to kiss her. It was a small, soft, gentle little gesture, but Glinda suddenly felt electrified and she was only half aware when she began to return the kiss herself, far more passion and want in the action than she had ever expected, or even thought possible. Then no more words were spoken as, for the third time that day, Glinda's mind was overrun by the color green.

**AN: I wanted to only do one fic per ship, but I got "bullied" into writing more Gelphie for the wonderful and talented elphiegranger2508.**

**And I admit that this honestly could've gone under the "Nature" chapters in this fic (the first of which will come in about a week) but I needed to write about something green that wasn't just Elphaba's skin, because that's WAY too cliché and overdone. So a little garden paradise is what we got instead. **

**In my mind, there's a tree right outside Elphaba and Glinda's dorm that Elphaba climbs quite often (which is actually somewhat canon in the book) but here, that tree connects to another tree which connects to another tree all the way until they find themselves in a little back forest area, which is this wild sanctuary Elphaba brings Glinda to. My own college campus has some really nice spots like this all over. Maybe none of them are accessible by tree climbing, but the general gist remains the same, LOL. **

**Also yes, slight "Adam and Eve/Adam and Steve" reference at the very end. But what can I say? It's a classic gay joke now, LOL.**


	6. Storm X Iris: Turquoise

Everyone always said that Storm's eyes were blue. It was something Iris disagreed with. Sure, on the most basic level, Storm's eyes were technically blue, but to only call them as such seemed like a disservice and an inaccuracy. They were so much more than that. They were so much more than _just_ blue. They brightened when she was happy and glazed over when she was sad. They looked almost white in the light and dark gray in the shadows. Storm's eyes were far more than _just_ blue, or _just_ anything for that matter. They were far too luminescent and changing to ever only be one simple color. Iris had seen them at their darkest and lightest, she had seen them when they ranged from every color starting at a darkish blue and going all the way up to a pale blue-gray. Storm's eyes were not _just _anything. But Iris' favorite times were when Storm's eyes were turquoise.

Perhaps this was a bit of an overstatement and an inaccuracy in and of itself, to call Storm's eyes turquoise, because no normal human had eyes that bright, but in Iris' mind, it beat calling Storm's eyes "Just Blue". Turquoise, though a bit hyperbolic, encapsulated what Iris thought about Storm a bit better than "Just Blue". Storm's eyes only became that shade of blue, they only became turquoise, when she was really happy. Of course, there were varying shades and expressions to go with each of her different happy moods, but when it came to the state in which Storm was the most happy, pure and unbridled, complete and simplistic, natural and open, her eyes were turquoise.

Iris would look into Storm's eyes during those moments of complete and perfect happiness and see them almost brighten several shades as her face lifted up into a smile and her expression into something other than a scowl or a frown. In those moments, her entire body seemed to radiate happiness. Not wild and explosive joy or simple contentedness and ease, just plain and simple happiness, short and sweet and powerful. In those moments, Storm's face would lighten and brighten and her entire body would seem to change. She would stand up taller, but her posture would be relaxed. Her smile would be genuine and full of satisfaction with everything going on at the moment, and her eyes would narrow because the smile took up so much of her face. When her eyes brightened and narrowed like that, that was when the turquoise began to shine through. That was why Iris loved Storm's eyes the most when they almost looked turquoise, and not "Just Blue".

But perhaps that made sense. The eyes were the windows to the soul. So perhaps it made sense that Storm's eyes would be the things to change the most when she felt truly happy. And it made even more sense that Iris would be the one to pick up on it. She was, after all, a girl already quite tied to eyes and their colors. She was already well-versed in the art of "eye reading" so of course she would be the one to be able to easily do the same with Storm. And not only that, but Iris was also a human-alien hybrid with heightened senses. She could see and experience things a normal human might miss. Perhaps Storm's changing eye color was part of that. As a hybrid with especially keen senses, it made sense that Iris would be able to pick easily up on all these little nuances that a normal human would miss. She of all people would be able to see the different colors in Storm's eyes, since she was able to see the same in her own. And once again, her own eyes were quite impressive and historic. But hers were not the ones she was thinking about today. Today, she was thinking about Storm's, and how beautifully turquoise they became every time she was truly happy and at peace.

But more than just the fact that Storm's eyes seemed incapable of hiding even though the rest of her body and behaviors could easily deceive and more than just the fact that Iris had heightened senses capable of detecting these subtle shifts, perhaps some of the reason Iris was always so good at reading Storm was because she had been married to the woman for several years now. Nobody knew Storm better than Iris. Iris knew how to read all of her wife's tempers and moods based on an array of factors, one of which being the way her eyes looked and shined with emotion and truth that the rest of her body and behavior may be able to hide, but not her eyes. Never her eyes. And whether Storm's eyes were incapable of lying because eyes were the windows to the soul or because Iris was _that_ perceptive and keen (which then led to another question: had she and Storm fallen in love because Iris had been able to see Storm for who she was even when everyone else was fooled by her icy front? Or had their romance been what allowed Iris this new level of access to the woman's emotions that no one else ever had?) was up for debate.

Either way, though, Iris knew that she could read Storm's eyes better than anything or anyone else ever could, and her most favorite thing to see in them was turquoise. Not blue or gray or "Just Blue" or sapphire, but turquoise.

**AN: Very short, rambling, poetic vignette, I know, but to anyone who has read my original story, they know how important eyes and their colors are to the plot. But I wasn't just going to be doing the cliché fic about Iris. Here's something more creative than that: looking not at Iris' mystical eyes, but at her wife's. (Again, sorry it is so prosy, but what can ya do!?)**


	7. Captain Maggots X Contessa: Indigo

"Ah! Tis a fine day for sailing indeed!" Captain Maggot declared as she stood on the bow of her mighty pirate ship, overlooking the vast and endless ocean and seeing nothing but pure indigo in all directions for as far as the spyglass could see. There was nothing she loved more than days like this: warm and sunny, with her and the people she loved out on a pirate ship, sailing all the seven seas, nothing but indigo all around.

"Oh, Maggots, do be careful!" a voice from the poop deck fretted as the tiny, orange-haired pirate continued to balance on the ship's narrow edge. It was Contessa, Maggots' wife. Ok, so maybe there was _one _thing she loved more than the sea and her ship. But to have them all together meant that Maggots was in paradise, surrounded by three of her favorite women: her ship, the sea and her wife.

"Don't ye worry, Tessie, dear!" Maggots cried bravely, throwing out her chest as she continued to balance on the ship's bow. "I'm a pirate captain, remember? I got this all under control and ain't nothing gonna stop me!"

"Are you so sure about that?" a new voice interrupted, low and thick with amusement. It was Captain Jolie Rogue. The surprise at being addressed gave Maggots such a shock that she yelped in surprise, tumbling backward back into the ship.

"Shiver me timbers!" she yelped as she fell backward.

"Oh, Lord!" Contessa bolted forward to catch Maggots, grabbing her tightly and pulling her further back into the ship.

"Let go of me, woman! I said I'd be fine!" Maggots protested as Contessa dragged her away from any of the ship's sides.

"Well, you are now," the deep voice continued to tease the orange-haired pirate. "Now that you've got someone sensible looking after you, you'll be fine," she continued to jibe, throwing a respectful and fond look at Contessa, who was still fretting over the tumble her wife nearly took.

"Ah, batten down yer hatches, Jolie," the orange-haired pirate grumbled good-naturedly as Contessa helped her back to her feet.

"Avast ye, _First Mate _Maggots, but I don't believe that that is any proper way to address your captain," Jolie Rogue pretended to give Maggots a warning look. It was only halfhearted at best, not even remotely intimidating, but it did the trick and Maggots was instantly standing straight up, stiff as a board as she saluted her true captain in perfect obedience.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" she cried nervously, leaving the other two women to only laugh at her.

In the Asylum for Wayward Victorian Girls, a slew of clubs, groups and organizations had been formed. The biggest and most official was known as the Striped Stocking Society (so named because every girl in it received a striped stocking as an ID badge of sorts), but among others, there was a little pirate crew. Technically, Jolie Rogue was the captain, both leader and creator, but Maggots was such a devoted and lively, charismatic follower that she led the crew whenever Jolie didn't feel like it. In short, if Jolie was the head of the operation, Maggots was the mouth.

Everyone who knew Maggots liked her to some degree. Even though her weirdness and overzealous nature could annoy some, it really was refreshing to see in such a dark and dismal place as the asylum. And even those who found Maggots' liveliness to be over the top could at least drag up some respect that she had somehow managed to keep her spirit while locked away in the literal hellhole they used to call a home before they managed to take and change it into the safe haven it was always supposed to have been.

As such, even though the entire asylum respected, revered and fear Jolie Rogue as their true captain, because she often preferred to be alone or work from the shadows or to just not interact with people unless it was absolutely necessary, Maggots became everyone's go-to pirate. She was much more open and approachable than the stoic and fearsome Jolie. So Maggots was the unofficial (but unanimously-agreed upon) first mate of the pirate crew, though she did like to indulge in the title of "captain" every once in a while, and Jolie let her, not one to get unhealthily fixated upon proper names and titles for all of her crew. As far as she was concerned, they were all her girls, wives and sisters both. She was their captain only because she was one of the oldest girls in the asylum (both in terms of age and duration of incarceration) and not because she was somehow better than them. It was why she allowed Maggots to use the title "captain", though ever once in a while, a flash of playfulness would take over Jolie and she would demand her title back. Maggots always gave it to her immediately, shaking in awe and fear whenever the true captain was near.

"That's better," Jolie continued to smirk while Maggots remained at attention. Jolie shook her head with a smile before waving a hand.

"Why don't you go scout the crow's nest?" the captain suggested, bidding Maggots to be at ease. "Keep an eye out for _booty_..." she winked at Contessa as she said this, but while Contessa gave her a sheepish grin, Maggots looked delighted at the idea, the innuendo flying over her head.

"Aye, aye!" Maggots repeated, saluting again, then she turned to Contessa and before the woman even had time to blink, Maggots had grabbed her hand and started to drag her towards the ship's mighty mast. Contessa made a small noise of surprise but Maggots continued to drag her along like an overly-excited child. Captain Jolie Rogue watched them go with a gentle smile.

Once up in the crow's nest, Maggots had gone hushed with excitement and wonder again.

"Look at that, Contessa! Isn't it all just so beautiful!?" she sighed as she peered out at the vast and endless indigo. The salty sea air blew all around them. It was Maggots' favorite smell (alongside tea, rum, and her wife... especially after they managed to find some good booty).

"I've never seen anything lovelier," the older, taller woman agreed with her feisty, fiery little wife. She wrapped her arms around the first mate's waist and rested her chin upon flaming locks of orange as they continued to sail along.

"There ain't nothing I love more than a high sea and an even higher sail!" the first mate continued to grin proudly as their ship's large flag billowed in the breeze behind them. It was a large black and white striped cloth with a crude drawing of a rat, a teacup and a pair of striped stockings on it. Every girl wore that banner with pride. And the term "flag" was especially meaningful to them all since it had also since become an acronym for them (Fight Like A Girl).

"We could just stay up here forever, couldn't we? Just you, me, and the indigo sea..." Contessa agreed dreamily as she began to sway to the beat of the indigo waves, gently rocking Maggots back and forth in her arms.

"As long as it was with you, lass, I'd stay anywhere!" Maggots replied with a grin as she hugged Contessa's arms.

"Even Davy Jones' locker?" Contessa teased, but Maggots gave her a very firm nod.

"A pirate's loyalty to her crew is a very fearsome thing, Contessa," she said and Contessa kissed her hair.

"I know, love," she said. "I know..." and she did.

Contessa and Captain/First Mate Maggots ended up unintentionally keeping their promise, both of them managing to somehow fall asleep in the crow's nest as the sky went from turquoise to indigo. And right at that time, as the stars began to shine and the sun began to fall, a soft and haunting voice from down below began to sing, lulling them deeper and deeper into the indigo depths of the sea, the sky and their dreams.

_Lift the anchor, raise the sail. Draw your sword and do not fail. Sight be sharp and aim be true, Captain's blade knows what to do..._

_Through the salty sea air that blows, up she rises, down she goes. Sailing to some place that nobody knows, singing up she'll rise till the morning... _

And even though Maggots and Contessa were asleep (only Jolie awake now, keeping watch below), they were soaring high and fast over the endless indigo sea, together, to some place that only they knew.

**AN: For any Asylum fans, you know that Jolie, and Maggots and Contessa, exist in different canons, but in this story, they're all part of the same world. And this is sort of an AU sequel to the books, this sailing trip happening after the Asylum has been won. **


	8. Ozma Tippetarius: Violet

For the first part of Ozma Tippetarius' life, the world had been dark gray or earthy brown. Raised as a servant boy, Tipp was burdened nearly around the clock with some chore or another to do. Often they were physically intensive, and always they were dull and frustrating. Tipp's "caretaker" Mombi made sure to dole out only the worst and lowest of jobs, meaning that Tipp was quick to grow up to resent her. Although she was Tipp's legal guardian and even though she'd raised Tipp from infancy, there was no love between them and Tipp was all too happy to run away from her once the opportunity finally presented itself. After so long living on a grungy old farm with nothing but dull and faded hues of sickly yellow and dirty brown and smoky gray, it was time for Tipp to move onto bigger and better (and brighter) things.

As Tipp traveled across Oz, different colors finally entered into the picture. There were bright and dark reds for blood spilled in combat. Sometimes the combat was only a common little street-scuffle with another young ruffian fellow who felt the need to engage Tipp in a fight (which Tipp refused to ever run away from). But other times, the battles were even larger than that, and even if they were technically bloodless, there was always a dash of red somewhere. These were the more elaborate and political battles and skirmishes that Tipp was forced into as time went on and as Oz became more politically charged and heated. Tipp had become a soldier during those times, and the red was even darker than what was usually split in minor spats on the street.

There was the orange of Jack Pumpkinhead's pumpkin head. Jack was Tipps' first real friend ever, having been created by Tipp as a prank against Mombi. Tipp gave Jack life and when Mombi looked about ready to end Tipp's for such a stunt, the pair ran away together, thus starting off the grand and crazy adventure that would change Tipp's life forever.

Then there was the yellow of the yellow brick road over in Munchkindland, and all the rolling golden fields of corn and hay that filled every non-industrialized part of the country. It was quite gorgeous to look at and, for the first time ever, Tipp had ever been happy to see a farm and a barn. Mombi's farm had been dirty, dark and dismal, painfully small and unsuccessful, constantly ugly and in disrepair. It was all colorless and gray. As such, back then, Tipp had despised farms and come to associate them with only dark and dreary, ugly colors. But after seeing the rest of Oz and seeing how well they managed to upkeep their farms, Tipp gained a new respect for the agricultural industry. It was very beautiful to see all that bright yellow, so clean and fresh and bright. It was a farm to be proud of and it was a farm worth looking after.

Then there was the almost-blinding green of the famous Emerald City, grand and sprawling. Tipp traveled to and through it a few times during that life-changing adventure and it was always marvelous! It was big, bright and wonderful. Green, green, green, so shiny and luxurious.

And then blue, the bright cyan of the sky and the cerulean of the water. Back with Mombi, everything had been gray and gross. The sky seemed ever-overcast (except on days when she commanded that Tipp do backbreaking labor in the fields. On those days, the sun had been a bright yellow, but it had not been beautiful back then). And the water had always seemed mushy and dark instead of bright and clear, like in this new place, reflecting the cyan of the sky in its deep depths. And there was also the blue of the dress that Tipp's strange new friend from another world wore: Dorothy Gale. A peculiar but kindhearted little girl who constantly wore a blue-checkered dress, she became one of Tipp's closest friends and allies and Tipp found the shade of blue that she wore to be quite flattering and attractive.

It was during Tipp's time with Dorothy that a very dark and secret truth finally came to light: Tipp was the long-lost Ozma of Oz, having been secreted away from the palace as an infant, handed over to Mombi by the usurping Wizard of Oz in order to eliminate competition for the Ozian throne. But now that Tipp was back, the country was quick to welcome their new Ozma. It didn't matter that Tipp knew nothing about royal life, or the Ozma line. It didn't matter that Tipp had only just found out the truth. The entire country was quick to beg Tipp to take the throne and become the next leader of Oz. So Tipp did. But the transition was hardly easy...

For one, Tipp's appearance as a servant boy was revealed to be false, caused only by magic. Tipp's true form as an Ozma was that of a beautiful female, not a rugged farm boy. But because Tipp had only ever remembered life as a boy in a male body, to suddenly gain a female body felt very strange, both literally and socially. Suddenly, it was "she" and "her" and "queen" instead of "boy" and "son" and "mister". Suddenly it was big fancy heavy dresses instead of simple jackets and pants. Suddenly it was "beautiful" instead of "handsome". It was long hair, bright eyes, delicate cheeks, a makeup complexion, jewelry and fine skirts and robes. No longer was it the short, cropped, dirty and messy hair. No longer was it the rugged and earthy complexion. All of it, all in one simple wand-wave, had to go away. So along with having to deal with the pressures of palace life, Tipp had also essentially been forced to switch genders even though being a boy had worked just fine for the past how many years? It hadn't been an easy transition. And it was not helped by the suddenness of it all either.

Tipp lounged on a golden throne in an emerald palace, staring out a window at the bright blue sky with tired eyes. The current outfit of choice for the new Ozma was a violet robe. It had not been Tipp's choice, but one of the many servants of the palace.

"You must!" the servant had cried, shoving the deep purple robes at Tipp. "Tis a royal color!" and Tipp was forced to fit into the embarrassingly and awkwardly luxurious outfit. It was nice and comfortable and attractive, but it was not Tipp's style. It was just too... much. Even the color alone made Tipp feel a bit shy and out of place. Everyone knew what a prized color purple was. Only green surpassed it, but there was already enough green in the surrounding city to cover that. Purple was the second most-prized color in Oz, symbolizing luxury and royalty, as the servant had so rightly said. And Tipp understood the logic of wearing the color, but that didn't make it any easier to slip on such a (metaphorically) unfitting outfit.

"Violet," Tipp grumbled, toying with the robe. "I hate violet!" this was not true, but Tipp had been forced to see so much already that it was beginning to look ugly. Every noble, royal and aristocrat Tipp ever met seemed to have at least a bit of violet on and it was driving Tipp up the walls. But day in and day out, violet was the color of choice. What could Tipp do except grin and bear it?

But every once in a while, Tipp was free to shed the royal persona that Oz wanted to see. Tipp could sneak out, dressed like a boy once more, and run freely around the city without anyone ever even noticing. Tipp would visit old haunts on those days, running wild like the reckless little peasant of old. Tipp would pull off old stunts and go on new little adventures to bring back some of the old days again, but it was always ruined when someone had to come calling, forcing Tipp to don the crown again, ditching street clothes for violet robes.

But as the years passed, Tipp got over being bitter about being Ozma. With increased age came increased wisdom and Tipp began to accept the role as leader of Oz. Tipp did sometimes still miss the days of adventure and exploration, but being a ruler of a country began to yield new and exciting adventures in its own right, and Tipp stopped dreading the violet robes. And Tipp soon adapted to a female body, slowly but willingly changing into a girl until, once again, gender matched sex and presentation. There finally came a day when Tipp got used to new names, titles and pronouns and being a girl finally proved as easy, comfortable and natural as being a boy ever had.

Oz was a very marvelous land full of all sorts of marvelous creatures. As such, Tipp was well aware of how many different types of everything that there were, including gender. Although the most common was boy/girl, that was very far from the only set. There were people who fell in between that set, or outside of it altogether, or who sometimes felt like a combination of many things. And sometimes that combination was static while, other times, it was fluid and changing.

Getting to meet people like this, scattered across the country, gave Tipp a lot to ponder. It came to pass that Tipp didn't wonder if there was a bit of genderfluidity involved in this story. To be born a boy in a male body only to switch over to a female body perhaps sounded like a simple case of being a male-to-female transgender person, but Tipp wasn't so sure, because Tipp had neither wanted nor chosen to become female. If anything, at first, Tipp had loathed it, and wanted nothing more than to go back to being a boy. But at the same time, Tipp really didn't find it all that hard, being a girl. Perhaps Tipp had resisted at first, but not because being female felt wrong, but because Tipp just hadn't wanted to change.

But as Tipp began to try, and as Tipp began to navigate the waters of femininity, it came as easily as being a boy ever had. To Tipp, although some of the nuance of being a girl had needed practice, actually being and feeling like a girl hadn't been too hard. It had felt natural, just like putting on a different set of clothing. Tipp was still Tipp no matter what clothing was in the picture. The only reason Tipp had initially despised dresses was because they were so new. But after enough practice, they became as easy to wear as pants ever had been. Tipp did not feel uncomfortable living as a girl. It had only taken some getting used to, but once that phase was past, Tipp felt completely normal as a girl, just as much as Tipp had ever felt while being a boy.

It had been during that transition, combined with Tipp meeting all of Oz's many, many diverse peoples, that Tipp began to think about words like "nonbinary" and "genderfluid". Tipp was now a female and a girl, but still was not opposed to being a male and a boy (or some variation between those sets). Tipp felt as though going back and forth between these binaries would be no trouble at all if the situation ever demanded it, but Tipp no longer felt any pull towards one identity or the other. It was whatever best suited the day. Male or female, boy or girl, both or neither, somewhere in between or outside, Tipp found all of it equally natural.

And that had been part of the reason why Tipp began to warm up to the color purple, particularly the shade of violet. From the stories Tipp heard around the country, purple/violet was sometimes seen as a gender neutral color just because it resulted when red/pink mixed with blue. Identifying strongly with that concept, Tipp adopted violet robes for a new reason. It was no longer just a symbol of status to Tipp, but also personal identity. Violet was a mixture of genders' symbolic colors, and Tipp was a mix of genders. It was no wonder, then, why Tipp had finally warmed up to the color.

And violet also, as Tipp had heard, symbolized spirit. As a ruler and a magician both, Tipp identified strongly with spirit. Not "spirit" as in "ghost", but as in essence. Tipp was the essence of Oz and Oz was the essence of Tipp. And as a magician, soul and essence were discussed all the time. Whether magic reflected the soul or vice versa was still debated by philosophers and magicians alike, but one thing was for sure: one's inner spirit was very closely linked with the magic that person possessed. One's inner spirit was their truest form, even more than any body or presentation ever could be. As one seeking truth, having spent an entire existence shrouded in lies, Tipp liked the idea of spirit. It sounded so much more simple and noble and honest than anything else.

And Tipp liked the idea of spirit because it balanced out strength with gentleness, wisdom with heart. Spirit was not just one of these attributes, it was a mixture of them all. Spirit was strength and courage. It was fortitude and fidelity. It was the power to be strong, but the wisdom to be compassionate and forgiving as well. Spirit was that quiet, enduring little thing that, though unimpressive, was constant, and ever-enduring. Tipp liked that: something small, but impossible to truly destroy.

Had this not been Tipp's own story? Spirited away by the Wizard, but not killed? Raised as a lie, but finally able to find the truth? Small and insignificant at first, only to become the ruler of Oz by the end of the tale? Tipp had been hard to kill, just as any good spirit was. Tipp was a mouse turned into a lion. Tipp was the quiet voice at the end of the day that agreed to get up and try again tomorrow. It was why the color violet now held so much presence in Tipp's life and wardrobe. It became like a signature color, linked up with Tipp's name and legacy. Violet. Violet, the color of spirit and balance. It was Tipp's favorite one of all.

"You look so gorgeous in that new dress, your Ozness!"

"Thank you, it's a new one, a beautiful shade of violet!" a twirl and a smile.

"It is very befitting of you, your honor,"

"Yes, it most certainly is..."

**AN: Once again, Oz seems to have a history with America's queer story, so here's another ode to that. And I know Tipp is technically MTF, but I wanted to dig a bit deeper than that and argue that Tipp might also be some sort of genderqueer/fluid, or nonbinary, even though Tipp seems to be happy identifying as a girl and a female. I'll accept any interpretation, this one was just a new one I wanted to try out. **


	9. June X Cora: Sexuality

**AN: Onto the second set of 8: the symbolism behind each color of the Pride flag. Pink is sexuality. **

It was a warm summer night on June 1932, but all of the natural and rustic splendor of the world was missed by June and Cora, who were instead choosing to spend the night out on the town, and by that, they meant going to one of New York City's few remaining speakeasies. Uncreatively named "the Forbidden Fruit", boasting a very Eden-esque theme, the old speakeasy was still very much enjoyed by the New Yorkers who liked the illegal atmosphere of a speakeasy. June and Cora were among this number tonight.

"Are you sure we won't get into trouble for this?" Cora whispered uneasily as June led her by the hand into the speakeasy.

"Trouble? What's that?" June scoffed back with a mischievous grin as she gave a dramatic flick of her pale blond hair. It looked even whiter than normal because of the pale club lights that shone down from the bar's aged ceiling. This phrase of June's was pretty much her life quote, and she said it quite often. Whenever Cora would try to dissuade her from doing something dumb, dangerous or illegal, June would always feign innocence and pretend to be indignant, insisting that she had no idea what Cora was talking about. Trouble? Who was she? June didn't know her!

Besides, tonight was _supposed_ to be a night of reckless and wild fun, of scandal and debauchery. They were going to a speakeasy after all, and what place was more sinfully seductive and scandalous than that? Especially given its rather blasphemous Biblical theme of the infamous Garden of Eden. The snake was going to be slithering around all of them that night, busy whispering and humming songs of seduction and power in the form of jazz performers and vaudevillians. Cora knew this, but because she'd always been a bit of a goody-two-shoes, she felt uncomfortable entering such a socially deplorable place, but June blazed the trail inside, continuing to drag Cora along after her until they were lost in a crowd of sweaty thirsty bodies, dancing and drinking the night away. Cora quickly began to feel as if she was suffocating, smothered by all of the other "speakers" but at the same time, the longer she stayed in that little night club, the more and more she felt like she could breathe.

The air stank of all sorts of spirits, and the sweaty drinkers consuming them, and all the other smells and scents they brought with them, but to Cora, it was sort of intoxicating. While here in the shadows, amongst the other outcasts of society, Cora felt free. For the first time in quite a while, she felt as though she was truly safe to be herself here, and she felt as though she could finally breathe.

"That's it! That's it!" June encouraged, seeing that change start to happen to Cora. Her Enlightening was happening, and soon, a true spiritual renaissance would follow after. June continued to drag Cora around the speakeasy, shouting at her over the swing music in the background while handing her drink after drink, pleading with her to at least try one sip of everything. There was enough that Cora thought she would die before she was even halfway through the long list of beverages, but June was insistent. She knew her own limits, and she was like a queen with alcohol, so she promised that she would take good care of Cora.

"I don't doubt that you will," the brunette replied, but she still sounded nervous.

"C'mon, Cora, who else am I supposed to swing dance with if you chicken out?" June decided to play upon Cora's possessiveness of her.

"What?! I'll still dance with you!" Cora cried.

"Not if you're sober, you're not. I wanna do some _drunk_ swing dancing!" June insisted with a wicked smile.

"Of course..." Cora sighed and rolled her eyes. It was very in character for someone like June to suggest something like _drunk_ swing dancing.

"So it's either you, drunk, or I'm finding another partner!" June continued to tease, leaning in close to Cora until their noses were touching.

"Fine," Cora grunted back and June gave a gentle laugh. Cora felt June's breath ghost across her face as she gave that laugh and Cora was suddenly sure that her face had turned a bright pink...

One hour and several drinks later, Cora was lost in a sea of drunken revelries as people of all kinds danced around her chaotically. But despite the mess and discordant, unsynchronized movements and sounds, Cora was having the time of her life! This drunk dancing was far more fun than she'd anticipated, and the best part by far was getting to see June go at it 1000%. Not 100%, 1000%. Boy, could that girl dance! Of course, Cora had always known this, but the level June reached when she was drunk and in her zone was the stuff of legends. She managed to make every move look perfect and she managed to avoid from hurting herself, despite being totally hammered. Cora was left awed and aroused as June began to perform several very sexual moves. Then suddenly, her pale green eyes were burning into Cora's blue ones as her moves got even slower and lower. June was seducing Cora. And Cora knew it. But she was helpless to do anything other than let it happen.

"Come on, baby, let me make you feel eve better," June almost growled as she continued to sway her body suggestively, coming closer and closer to Cora until their bodies were rubbing together.

"Mmmm," was Cora's only reply as she reflexively tipped her head back and shut her eyes. June gave her a breathy laugh before latching onto her exposed throat with her lips, and the very tips of her teeth. Cora took a sharp breath in and tensed up with pleasure, but June only gave her another laugh as she continued to kiss her lover's neck. June trailed down Cora's neck until she was right above the other girl's chest. Any sense of shame or priority in Cora had fled the moment June first kissed her. Now all that remained was her sexuality. And as June continued to dance on her, their bodies still rubbing back and forth as they embraced, Cora's sexuality only seemed to glow brighter and stronger...

June and Cora were "best friends" by day, but when the moon and stars came out, so did they, and the truth. The two had been in a romantic and sexual relationship for a couple of years now, having started dating during the end of the Roaring 20s. Even though times were changing now in the 1930s, they still stayed together and continued to seek out speakeasies wherever they remained. Even if alcohol itself became 100% legal again, the atmosphere of a speakeasy was so deliciously sinful and dirty that neither of them wanted the speakeasies to ever go away. As saintly and angelic as Cora was, she had a devilish side too. Like every human, she had a dash of Original Sin within her pure little heart, and just like Eve, the Forbidden Fruit was always her greatest weakness. If the speakeasy's sensual and seductive atmosphere was the hissing snake in her ear, then the fruit was June. Of course it was. It always was. Cora could never say no to June.

Before long, she was reciprocating all of June's physical affections with just as much (if not even more) vim and vigor. It was as if all the natural and sinful desires that Cora so often suppressed were all coming out in one big blowout tonight, on the darkened dance floor of an old NYC speakeasy, music in her ears, alcohol in her stomach, stars in her eyes, and June in her arms.

"This is so wrong," Cora hummed in dark satisfaction as she continued to kiss June fiercely, holding her face tightly.

"Nonsense, Cora," June replied, and just for a second, the jazz music of the speakeasy became hushed and almost muted. June pulled away from Cora with an uncharacteristically serious expression. As sensual and sexual as June was, she was far more than just a pretty body and a fiery spirit. She was also a caring heart and a wise soul. She knew of Cora's troubles, and she knew how long and hard the girl had struggled with her sexuality, so convinced that she was straight. And then that she could _become _straight with enough hard work and dedication. It had taken June quite a while to work those harmful notions out of Cora's head, and even after Cora finally began to accept her sexuality and start looking at it (and sexuality as a whole) in a different light, it still hadn't been an easy transition.

In fact, the very first romantic or sexual thing that June and Cora had ever done was to have sex. Cora had been curious, impassioned by June and her philosophies about sex and sexuality. She had asked, then she had demanded, and June had chosen to give. Before they'd ever even shared their first kiss or first date, they shared a bed. It had not been June's first time (far from it) but it had been Cora's, and she'd cried through part of it, and after they were done, she'd alternated between panicking and reveling, two storms going on inside of her at the exact same time. She alternated between crying and laughing, celebrating and fretting. June had sat by her the entire time, both of them still totally naked, but all sexuality had gone out the window then, and it had only been soul. Nothing but comfort, support, affection and protection.

Then the two had gone backwards and, after that first "one night stand", they began to take the more typical route of flirting, courting, hand-holding and kissing. They still had sex frequently and casually, experimenting on some rounds and going vanilla on others. But those times were comfortable and familiar. That very first night had been tumultuous, for both of them. Even June, who was very confident in her sexuality, had been taken for a turn by just how emotional that first night was. Cora obviously had been a mess, but even June had been shaken and taken aback. But now here they were a few years later, and an official couple, even if the rest of the world claimed they were just gals being pals.

"I've told you before, Cora, human sexuality is far more complex, complicated, wonderful and nuanced than society gives it credit for. It is perfectly natural to fall in love, no matter who it is with. Sexuality is beautiful and wonderful and it is nothing to be ashamed of. It is something we do not yet fully understand, but we never will if we continue to try and hide from or contain it! We need to explore it if we wish to give it all that it is due!" June was speaking from the heart now, eyes and voice passionate as she tried to impress upon Cora about how perfect she was, just the way she was. There was nothing to fear, and nothing to hide from, especially not here, especially not with June.

"I know, I know," Cora promised, having not meant to upset June, or insinuate that she was having a sexuality crisis again. She had been joking this time, but June was far too protective to let it slide easily. She may have thought that Cora was the possessive and clingy one, but June had her own protective streak. Cora managed to soothe it back down.

"Don't worry," she continued to promise. "I know, and I'm ok. I'm starting to study sexuality a little bit more, and try to understand it better, and I'm feeling just fine. I was only making a little joke, you know? To go along with the Eden vibes?"

Her words managed to convince June and the bristling blond settled back down after Cora reassured her remark had only been ironic and not serious or literal. But even if her words had failed, her actions would've easily sufficed. With that little misunderstanding already gone, Cora wasted no time in grabbing June and pulling her back in once again. June may have been the more promiscuous, open and sexually liberated of the pair, but especially in times and places like this, Cora's own sexuality and sex drive could easily rival her lover's. She kissed deeply and moved her hands and body all over June, rocking to the beat of the jazzy swing music in the background. June was taken aback, but only for a moment, then she got right back into the groove of things and continued to rule the dancefloor with Cora in her hands and mouth and heart.

_Down, down, down at the midnight rectory, _

_We jiggle juice, frisking under the marquee. _

_The Peacocks are strutting behind velvet rope, _

_sipping away on their heavenly dope_...

**AN: AU on the Devil's Carnival where June and Cora are still alive and visiting one of the few remaining speakeasies in NYC at the cusp of the 1930s. In my headcanon, Cora is lesbian and June is bi. **


	10. Carmilla X Laura: Life

**AN: Based on the 1872 novella. **

Laura and Carmilla had spent many nights exploring the schloss' gardens together and tonight was no different.

"Did you ever have anything quite so marvelous as this back home?" Laura asked her companion innocently, attempting to learn more about the girl's mysterious past while passing it off as a simple, conversational remark. She gestured to the sprawling grounds, illuminated by starlight.

"Nothing half so beautiful as this, no," Carmilla replied, leaving it at that. She knew what Laura was trying to do and although she did desire to tell Laura all, the hour was not quite yet right for her to do so. So for now, Carmilla would hold her tongue, as much as it pained her to.

"Dearest Carmilla," Laura frowned when Carmilla refused to elaborate on her answer. "We have been together for months now. When will you confide in me? When shall I receive your permission to know you just as well as you know me?"

"Darling, darling," Carmilla laughed airily at her hostess. "As I have promised you many times before, there shall indeed come a day in which you shall know all, but you shan't know a single thing a single second too early!"

"But why, Carmilla? Why?" Laura demanded. She was usually not half this bold, but tonight seemed to have given her increased passion and fervor about her mysterious house guest. She wanted to know Carmilla fully. She wanted to _love _Carmilla fully. But how could that be if she was kept in the dark about the girl's past?

Their relationship felt woefully unequal in Laura's eyes just because, while Carmilla seemed to know everything about her, she knew nothing about Carmilla. The thought shamed her. It embarrassed her. And she felt as if it were unfair of her to still be so ignorant to all of Carmilla's legacy while Carmilla knew everything about her. It was an unbalanced love that Laura still knew so little about, even though she desperately craved to know every last detail. Or was Carmilla really so cruel and distrustful that even now, months later, she still did not consider Laura a worthy confidante? Carmilla verbally disavowed such a claim, but her actions spoke otherwise, and Laura did not know which to believe.

"How am I to consider myself your friend if I should not know anything about you? I hardly know who you are and it has been months! You are still almost a stranger to me, although you profess to love me deeply. Is it fair that you should bear the brunt of our relationship and know all while I know nothing? I wish to know more, for us to be more equal. I wish to share in our story and bear this burden as well," she continued to plead, but Carmilla only gave her a languid smile, resting her head on Laura's shoulder. But no further answers were forthcoming.

At last, however, the two young girls took rest upon a stone bench towards the edge of the garden where they could overlook a nearby path that servants and farmhands sometimes treaded to travel back and forth between the schloss and its sprawling grounds. Because it was night, the path was quiet and dismally empty, but Carmilla and Laura were not looking out through the iron gates at that pathway. Instead, they only had eyes for each other, and each girl considered the other a far more interesting and pleasurable sight than the forest just beyond the garden's gates.

"I suppose I can tell you one thing that I possess here that I never had back home," the raven-haired girl whispered at last as she and Laura continued to gaze deeply into one another's eyes, blind to all else.

"You will?" Laura's own eyes widened a little and she leaned even closer towards Carmilla, hardly daring to breathe in case one single exhale should somehow change Carmilla's mind and cause her to retract such a tantalizing offer.

"Yes," Carmilla nodded, then she took Laura's hand in her own and held it tight, dark eyes sparkling with a passion that was deep and intense, as if only the serenity and silence of the night kept it from coming out in an unchecked torrent. Then she gave Laura her much-coveted answer: Life.

"In the land from which I hail, in the land of the west, we lived only in one lonely black castle. It was tall and marvelous, yet dismally dark and empty. For all of its riches and treasures and wonders, I loathed the place. It was always far too quiet and sad and lonely. Servants and subjects bustled in and out, perhaps, but it was all the same to me, tasteless and changeless, bland and flat. I was miserable there. There was no life within that castle. None at all. No so much as one single beating heart. No fresh or flowing blood, no rosy cheeks, no sparkling eyes, no colorful complexion. No life. None at all..." Carmilla's face was unreadable, but Laura could somehow already sense that her mood had changed.

"The darkness was amicable enough for a while, almost pleasurable and peaceful, an escape from the vitality and vigor and violence of life, but after a spell, it became desperately hollow and boring. It filled me with a loathsome restlessness. I longed for life again. But there seemed to be no end to my misery. At least not within those darkened hallways..." Carmilla gave another mysterious look, eyes narrowing, but this time, Laura could not read her. She did not know what Carmilla was attempting to convey through that one subconscious facial shift. Amusement? Anger? Bitterness? Resentment? Fear? Desire?

Laura desired to know, but she did not dare ask, lest she make some remark that caused Carmilla to close off from her once again. Laura did not think she would be able to tolerate Carmilla choosing to withdraw from her again. Not after the forbidden fruit was finally being given to her after having dangled tantalizingly in front of her for all of these days and nights together. The fruit was in her grasp now, she would not be so foolish as to throw it away, or reveal her presence, in case the God of the garden caught her and struck her down for indulging in this knowledge.

Laura remained still and silent, waiting for Carmilla to continue. To finally hear the girl disclose to her, even if it was only a morsel, felt wonderful upon Laura's soul. It filled the burning desire within her heart and soothed the restless frustration and made her glow with delight that Carmilla should finally consider her worthy of her trust. Now at last, Carmilla's actions were reflecting her words, and her earlier promises were finally coming to light. It filled Laura with relief, satisfaction, pride and hunger all at once. It filled her with life. It filled her with life to finally hear Carmilla confess _something _to her. She already knew that, by the time this night came to an end, she and Carmilla's souls would be even more intertwined than they had been before this starlit stroll through their little arcadian paradise.

"But then I came to you," Carmilla continued on. "Fate brought the two us together to be one. In you, my life has been returned, and in you, I have found that which I so desperately dreamed of, that which my own home could never supply. In you, my dearest companion, is Life."

"Life," Laura breathed the word back unwittingly. There was something so refreshing about the way Carmilla spoke the word that Laura had to say it herself to taste it the way her companion did. It was a very sweet and breathy flavor to it. Life.

"Life," Carmilla agreed. "There was nothing quite so nice in _my_ home. It was the one luxury we could not afford. Though I wished to indulge in it."

"Well, now you can," Laura promised, finally squeezing Carmilla's hand back. "Now you can, every day. In this place, in _my _home, you may have as much life as you wish. Here, you may indulge in it freely and fully and forever. I promise!..." a new fervor that usually only sparkled in Carmilla's dark eyes began to shine within Laura's as, at long last, she was finally able to offer something back to her mysterious friend.

"I shall," Carmilla promised passionately. "Here, I know I will be full. I know I will be content. Here, I know I may indulge in life. Especially yours. Your life is the one I want the most. It is the one I value the most..." there was something in the way Carmilla said this that made it seem as though there was more to it than met the eye, but Laura was blind now, blinded by love and passion, and she could only agree to it all.

"Yes, Carmilla, yes," she murmured. "My life is your life, have it, take it! For I do not want it, unless you are there to share it as well..."

Carmilla gave the girl an unreadable smile as though truly contemplating Laura's reckless but well-meant offer. Then she nodded.

"Very well," she said. "We shall share lives. My life will be your life and your life will be my life."

"Very good," Laura's own smile was much more readable, relieved and excited and hopeful. The high of finally being on more even footing with the girl she loved sent her pulse pounding. She felt good in knowing that she and Carmilla were finally equals, and that she could give Carmilla just as much as Carmilla had given her. She finally had something Carmilla wanted, and she could finally provide it, after their relationship being one-sided for so long, with Laura taking and taking.

Laura could feel her blood rushing through her veins and reddening her cheeks as she continued to contemplate her guest. Her guest's eyes were locked on her, but they darted all over her body. While Laura could only stare at Carmilla's face, breathless, Carmilla's eyes roved every little last inch of Laura's. This was her new body now, this girl belonged to her. This was her new life. Laura was her new life. And for the first time in quite a while, Carmilla finally, truly, felt alive again as well. She had her life back at last, and it was all thanks to Laura. Now, sitting under the cover of the stars at that little corner of Eden, two lives were beginning again, intertwined forever and ever, even unto the grave and beyond and back again. It was life, endless and unbounded. It was life eternal. And most importantly, it was theirs.

**AN: Sorry if this seems too flowery and poetic, but I was trying to capture the original book's style.**


	11. Elle: Healing

Elle sat alone, reclining under the summer sun. Her new life was a little bit lonelier and a little less grand than she thought it would've been, but she had already fought so hard for so long to get it that she wasn't about to start complaining. Insetad, as she reclined under the warm sun, she only heaved a sigh and tried to be content. Life had been interesting for her, to say the least. She had managed to fall in love with a girl, only to then realize that the girl was actually a vampire, only to then be killed by that vampire-girl's evil goddess mother, only to then spend the next 150 some years stuck in the belly of a giant fish god while reliving her worst memory over and over again, only to then finally be set free by that very same vampire girl and her new girlfriend just under a year ago. It made Elle run out of breath just to think about it! But now? Now, things were peaceful, oddly and eerily enough.

Against all odds and expectations, Elle, Carmilla and all the rest of the gang managed to defy death yet again. They all managed to survive their encounters with one another and Carmilla actually finally properly apologized to Elle for everything that had gone on between them in the past. And then Elle, so caught off guard by the apology, could only do likewise, quick to admit to her own flaws and faults now that Carmilla was confessing her own. But not only did the two finally apologize to one another for all the mess and all the drama, but then Carmilla actually kept her promise and made a sacrifice of herself to Elle. She gave her life to Elle! Just like Elle had wanted, yet never expected! Though as with all things that involved the two of them, it didn't go exactly as planned...

Although Carmilla did agree to give her life to Elle as a payment for taking away Elle's life in the first place, it was not a permanent thing. Instead, the duo agreed to split the year evenly down the middle. Elle would spend the summer months on the surface while Carmilla would spend them down below. Then once the clock rolled over into the winter season, Carmilla would return from the grave while Elle went back into it. Back and forth they shared the years, diving them up by solstice, just as many famous mythological predecessors of theirs did. Carmilla had gotten inspiration from the story of Inanna, Dumuzid and Geshtinanna.

So now here Elle sat, her time on the surface world barely beginning, and she was already questioning everything. Although she was incredibly grateful for Carmilla's sacrifice, she couldn't help but wonder if it was really all worth it. Sure, it was nice to be alive again and finally get to experience everything that had so long been denied her, but she was terribly lonely now. She had no friends, family or home to turn to. Of course, Carmilla's new girlfriend, Laura Hollis, had been gracious enough to help look after Elle as she acclimated to living in the 21st century, but it was clear that there was a small part of her that would never forgive Elle for taking Carmilla away from her, even if it was only for half the year ("only!" Laura had squawked bitterly). Elle couldn't blame her, and out of her own sense of graciousness, she made sure to avoid the girl and all of her friends as much as possible, to minimalize the awkwardness between them.

But that didn't do much to help, because Elle was still terribly lonely, restless and unfulfilled all the time. She didn't dare ask Laura or her friends for help and even though Elle had a vast array of other places that she could've gone to, she still felt too out of place to dare and ask.

"I just can't understand it!" the girl finally growled under her breath as she sat up abruptly, fists clenched tight in frustration. "I have everything I've always wanted, so why do I still feel so restless and unhappy?!"

Well, as Elle would come to learn in time, it was because she had not yet fully healed from her past or her trauma. Although she'd made leaps and bounds over the past couple months, she was still very much broken and injured. She was not yet fully healed. She was doing better, but the healing process was a very long and slow creature and Elle was only just starting down the winding path. Getting out of her toxic environment was only the first step. Now she had to get her bearings, figure out what was wrong, address it, deal with it, then figure out when, where and how to move forward. Then she had to start down on that new path. Her work was only just beginning. Escaping that schloss had only been the first step to the life she truly desired. She still had an awfully long way to go.

The thought infuriated her to no end, but at the same time, it made sense to her. Although she and Carmilla had finally set aside their differences and had the chance to talk things out and properly apologize, the battle was still far from over and won. Apologizing was only just the start. Elle still needed a bit more closure. So as the ex-ghost girl sat up, she began to fiddle with the large emerald brooch at her throat. It contained her life essence, and Carmilla's. She rubbed a finger over it, silently speaking with the girl whose life essence shared that brooch and her own.

"You called?" it was not Carmilla who appeared, but her older sister, Matska "Mattie" Belmonde.

"Yeah, I did," Elle stood up to meet Mattie eye to eye.

"Don't tell me you've already wearied of this life?" Mattie quirked an amused and gorgeous eyebrow.

"Nonsense!" Elle snapped defensively, but she was inwardly surprised at how fast Mattie had caught onto her situation.

"Darling, I am thousands of years old. Do you really think I cannot tell what mortals are thinking and feeling? No matter how far you've come, you are still all the same underneath!" she scoffed with a regal toss of her rich black hair. Elle felt herself growing cross, her natural reaction to having someone knowing something about her that she didn't. Besides, since Mattie was technically right, Elle had nothing to call her out on.

"Alright, then, ghost-girl, what is it?" Mattie asked, laughter instantly turning to business as she addressed Elle more seriously and firmly.

"I'm on a tight schedule today and I've only come here because Carmilla felt you touch your life essences and she insisted that I come up here to see what you wanted," the priestess of Ereshkigal looked impatient as she crossed her arms and waited for Elle to reply.

"I was wondering if you could channel me through to her," Elle responded as quickly as she could. "Carmilla, that is."

"Ah, miss her that much do you?" Mattie gave her another dry and slightly nasty smirk.

"No!" Elle, once again, grew defensive and embarrassed. "I mean, I just think that we still have a lot left to talk about and I don't-"

"Oh, spare me the drama," Mattie cut Elle off. Elle looked outraged at being interrupted, but before she could speak, Mattie continued on.

"If this is more of your lover quarrel soap opera crap, as entertaining as I find it, it is still rather tedious and old. I never understood why you mortals placed so much value on romance. Death is the only thing that is certain!"

"Is it really though?" Elle frowned, crossing her arms and Mattie was quick to retract her statement with a cruel laugh.

"Ah, I suppose you are correct there," she said.

"Listen, I just want to speak with Carmilla, ok? This has nothing to do with me, her or Laura, it's just that we aren't done talking over things yet," Elle cried impatiently. "Now are you gonna give me a way to contact her or not?"

"And why should I do that?" Mattie gave her a smile full of fangs.

"Because I'm sure she wants this just as much as I do," Elle replied, and as she spoke these words, she began to realize that she was right.

Elle had no reason to think as such, but she began to wonder if Carmilla's own personal discontent was not part of the reason Elle, herself, was unable to enjoy her life right now. Though her life was back, it was still stagnant and weighed down with ghosts from the past. She was willing to bet that Carmilla was feeling the same way. Their lives were inextricably tied together once more and one's joy was the other's happiness. Similarly, one's sorrow was the other's grief. Elle somehow already knew that Carmilla wanted to talk just as badly as she did.

"So are you gonna give me a way to contact her or not?" Elle repeated brusquely, crossing her arms again. Mattie gave her a sneering laugh, genuinely tickled by her feistiness.

"Ah, Carmilla sure does have a type doesn't she? Always going for the hotheaded and hotblooded women, eh? Oh, that's rich! But I shall see what I can do!" she cackled, and then she disappeared again.

That night, neither Mattie nor Carmilla had returned.

"Stupid, treacherous freak!" Elle grumbled as she curled up under the sheets of her tiny apartment, trying to force herself into a fitful rest as she stewed over the fact that Mattie had not yet gotten back to her. But right as she found herself upon that precarious perch between the sleeping and waking worlds, a shadowy and silvery figure suddenly appeared in her room, seeming to be sustained by pure moonlight alone. At first, Elle could not recognize who it was, but then it spoke.

"Hello, Elle," it was Carmilla. So, maybe Mattie had come through for them after all. "You wanted to see me?"

"Yeah," Elle admitted with a miserable and dry smirk. "Life ain't all it's cracked up to be and I'm starting to realize that you and I still have a lot of unfinished business left to deal with."

"Ah, so you've called me back so that we can work out more of our trauma and drama?" Carmilla sounded bored and sarcastic.

"Joy of joys, I know," Elle deadpanned back with a smirk as she sat up in bed, offering a spot for Carmilla to sit on. Carmilla accepted. "But the healing process is a long, slow one, and if we want to get anywhere at all any time soon, we're gonna have to start somewhere."

"And you chose tonight?" Carmilla sneered, looking back out the window in dark amusement.

"There's no time like the present," Elle replied calmly, without missing a single beat.

"Fair enough," Carmilla shrugged. "So where are we gonna start this whole healing thing then, eh?"

"Well, I guess we're about to find out..."

**AN: Sorry I'm posting this so late, but I've been busy today. Consider this a semi, unofficial sequel to the other Carmilla story I just posted "One Last Deal". In essence, in this AU, Carmilla pulls a Persephone for Elle and offers to share half her life with her. Now Elle is tasting life for the first time in 150 years and she is starting to realize that happy endings are much slower than the stories portray. **


	12. Princeton: Sunlight

He had always been a shy and quiet boy, never very loud or showy, but in his mind, there was a kind of serenity and freedom that could only ever be found in the dark. While the light was harsh and blinding, grating and demanding, the darkness could conceal and hide. The shadows were like shields and shelter and the night was his protector and friend. If the light was the prying eye always demanding to know more until he was stripped bear and exposed to the world, then the darkness was the gentle confidante and shoulder to cry on that would leave him be. It granted him peace and privacy if he so chose.

It was there, alone in the darkness, where he was first able to truly taste freedom. With no reason to hide now that the light was gone, he could truly be his most authentic and unapologetic self. There was no need to lie in a kingdom of secrecy. So that was where he had first started to transition. From female to male, the darkness was the first creature he ever came out to, and it was his most constant companion from start to finish. It was the darkness of the night and the darkness of his closet that first got to hear his new and chosen name: Princeton. It was the darkness of his own mind that first culled up murky images of the body he hoped to have one day in the future, drastically different from the one he possessed now. The shelter and safety of the endless abyss was where he took his first steps up and out into a new life. The first new name, the first new hairstyle, the first new clothing, the first vocal training. It was only ever the darkness that got to see all of that.

He did eventually come out to the rest of the world, stepping into the harsh and grating light to tell the world who he was, but the reception had been very mixed and volatile, nothing like the endless, smooth and simplistic darkness. His family had been totally accepting, eager to help him transition in any way that they could, but other people were not so welcoming or calm. Several friends turned away from him in confusion and distaste. What girl ever wanted to be a boy? Were the breasts not proof enough of what truly was? His peers did not always understand, and they were painfully quick to disavow that which they did not understand. It was just an oddity to them, and so he became one as well.

And some adults would narrow their eyes and glare, judging, insisting rumors and lies about a child they knew nothing about. It's just a phase. It'll pass. It'll change. It's just teenage hormones. _She's_ just being rebellious right now, but one day _she _will come back around and grow up to become the _beautiful woman _that _she _was always destined to be, from birth and even before. This whole transgender thing was nothing but a trend of today's youth. Nothing but silly experimentation that would never ever last, because there was simply no such thing as a man who started out with breasts and a vagina. Similarly, there was no such thing as a girl with a penis.

There was a reason Princeton had always preferred the darkness to the light, because it was only in the dim light of the stars where he could truly admire himself as he was, totally unbounded and unbridled. But it was in the glaring spotlight that all scrutiny fell upon his shoulders. The watching and waiting eyes, hungry for something to pick apart. But even if the remarks were kind and supportive, not the lies and judgments cast upon him by his "friends" and the narrow-minded adults in his life, they still called out loudly and pointed attention at him, dramatizing his transition when he wished he could've just been left alone and in peace. They would hail him as a hero and a king for having the courage to transition so openly. They would try to make him their symbol and mascot and poster child.

While the attempts flattered him at first, there came a day when he wanted it all just to stop, and be dark and quiet once again. No cis-gender person ever received this much attention, so why did he? Couldn't they realize that even their positive attention was still unwanted? No. They couldn't. Because they were blinded by the light. They did not see the human face that lay underneath the politics and the symbolism. Their eyes were so used to the flashy and bright that all they saw was a transgender. Not a boy or a human. Just an icon. Just a rainbow. Just a flag consisting of blue, pink and white. Although Princeton wore the flags with pride, holding them near and dear to his true heart, he, himself, had no desire to be anybody's poster child. Even if the attention was well-meant, it still felt a bit like tokenism to him, and he was tired of being paraded around like something to marvel at (for worse or for better).

The light, Princeton was swift to decide, belonged to the majority. Those who didn't mind taking the center stage and those who were blinded by glory, would be happiest in the light. But he would not. He was a creature of the night, who took comfort in the shadows and darkness. It was quieter there, smoother there, softer there. With the power of sight rendered useless, they couldn't see what he looked like. They could only put their literal blind faith in what he said. They accepted him as a boy better in the darkness than in the light, because in the light, they could see all the conflicting things on his body. In the shadows, though, he was only a voice, a voice with a story to tell and a name to use. The light belonged to those in power, who didn't mind its burning gaze. The shadows belonged to those who preferred the safety, secrecy and anonymity of the night.

So he basked alone in his closet, reveling in the darkness and peace. He basked in his closet, free to let his mind run wild and free, now that he had nobody to impress or show off to. He had since turned his closet into an asylum and refuge. It was not a symbol of oppression to him, but the one place where he could truly be himself without any sort of judgments, good or bad. The closet was his friend. He could sit there for hours and just breathe. No more light or sound, just the darkness. But as peaceful as the closet was, there was always one tiny part of him that left the door slightly cracked open. It was too small for anything to fit through, except for the sunlight streaming in from the window a few feet away.

Perhaps Princeton detested the light in general, but every human needed a balance of both in their lives, and he was no exception. So as much as he basked in the shadows, there was always a tiny slice of him open to one single gentle ray of sunlight, shooting in through the crack of his closet door to illuminate his face. It wasn't much, but it was just enough to bring a little warmth and liveliness into the serenity of the darkness. It was a very nice mixture, and as he reclined in his little black closet, one eye opened lazily to peek out the door and he smiled up at the one little gentle ray of sunlight streaming in from above. That one little beam of sunlight was all he needed. It was just enough. It was just enough for him. And it was just enough to illuminate his own little kingdom, and the pink, white and blue flag that draped over it. The darkness might've been his best friend, but even he could respect and admire the golden sunlight (just so long as it was in small doses).

**AN: A subversion on the actual theme for today, this fic was more about the darkness than the light, but I still threw in a little bit of sun at the very end. This guy is the main character of my second original story (which is on hiatus for this month) and the entire story is set around the premises that the dark is not always bad while the light is not always good, as this story sums up. But even so, we still all need a bit of both in our lives, and Princeton shows you exactly how and why to do so. **


	13. Riley X Jetpack Girl: Nature

"Wow... This place sure is beautiful," Riley murmured softly as she, hand in hand with JPG, roamed the mansion's sprawling fields.

"Isn't it?" JPG asked back with a gentle smile, squeezing Riley's hand a little. It felt incomprehensibly and unspeakably wonderful to finally get to touch the girl after having spent years and years only able to see her, but never to hug or hold or kiss. But with the evil Sorceress gone, the estate was free and every last wicked enchantment had been lifted from its grounds. Now all that remained was a gorgeous and glorious mansion with grounds and gardens stretching out for miles and miles in all directions.

_If only Alison were here_, the plucky young inventor thought with a bittersweet smile. Alison had been JPG's other best friend, and it had been through her sacrifice that the Sorceress was defeated. Without Alison, the heroes of the mansion would've failed in their quest and the estate would've remained under her tyrannical grip forever. But thanks to the sacrifice of the brave, rebellious vampire princess, the entire estate was free to live and breathe again. JPG was eternally grateful for everything Alison had given to her, but it did make her heart twist to realize that Alison would never get to reap the rewards of all of her hard work across the centuries.

But as JPG had promised herself once before, she refused to allow her grief to consume her. She knew Alison would've wanted her to live a long and happy life, full of meaning and triumph. That couldn't happen if JPG allowed her misery over losing Alison to swallow her up. So JPG did her best to put on a brave face and she continued to enjoy this peaceful night (the first peaceful one that she could ever remember) with her new girlfriend finally at her side, after centuries of imprisonment in that dreadful little glass box.

Even though Riley was technically centuries old (maybe even older than Alison) because she'd spent her entire existence trapped in a glass tomb, she was still very much a child at heart, and it was now up to JPG to help teach her about everything that life had to offer. Tonight was about the mystical and magic majesty of nature itself. The two were perusing through the sprawling fields and forests that surrounded the old mansion and JPG was taking the girl out to see and enjoy everything that the grounds had to offer.

"It's so beautiful!" the innocent young woman marveled at a large and fancy fountain in one of the many sections of the giant garden.

"Isn't it?" JPG squeezed her hand again as they looked up at the stony basin, clear water arching over animal sculptures before trickling gently down into the basin below. Riley giggled as she took a step forward and dipped her fingertips into the crystalline water.

"Gah! It's cold!" she shrieked playfully. JPG watched her splash around with a smile. God, how she loved Riley! The fondness and softness that JPG felt whenever she looked at the girl was indescribable by mere words alone and she was so grateful that the cruel world had finally been kind enough to bless her with someone like Riley.

Then the pair moved deeper into the woods.

"What are those?" Riley asked nervously when she noticed little glowing dots flying through the darkened air.

"Fireflies," JPG replied, reaching out to catch a few. She gestured for Riley to follow her lead. Riley looked uncertain and afraid, having been raised to fear the entire world, but when she saw that relaxed and reassuring smile on JPG's face, she nodded back and steeled her shoulders. JPG handed her a few of the glowing bugs and Riley gave a soft gasp of awe as they flickered on and off in the palm of her hand.

"It's so beautiful!" she whispered. "Just like magic!"

"No, it's even better," JPG replied gently. "It's nature!" although JPG held a healthy respect for magic, after all the trouble magic had caused for the mansion and everyone who lived inside of it, JPG had come to prefer the natural beauty of the world over any spell that any witch, wizard or warlock could ever conjure up.

Then at last, in the remaining few hours before the sun would rise again, JPG clicked a button on her back. She was activating her trademark, namesake jetpacks. They hummed to life and a soft, golden glow emitted from their bases.

"May I?" she asked gently, extending an arm to Riley. Once again, Riley looked a little nervous and unsure, but all she needed to see was JPG's cocky, confident smile before she agreed. She took JPG's arm eagerly and JPG was quick to pick her up bridal-style. Then she increased the thrust on her jetpacks and sent them both soaring upward, defying gravity over the grounds.

"Woah!" Riley's voice and breath were swept away at the gorgeous view unfolding below her as she and JPG flew higher and higher.

"Sure is something, isn't it?" the inventor murmured back, also staring down at the endless sea of nature spreading out beneath them both.

In every direction there were dark emerald trees and shrubs, dotted with the occasional bush of flowers or statues. The cool night air was crisp and clean and the entire mansion seemed to be in a sedated state, calm and dreamy, like everything within the mansion was collectively heaving sighs of contentment and peace. There were dark red flowers, dandelions that were faded in the moonlight, stone statues of marvelous intricacy, several other fountains all flowing with gorgeous jets of water, pure and clean and clear. Stone paths spiraled throughout the forest, stones almost gleaming beneath the heavenly full moon hanging over JPG and Riley's heads as they soared around the mansion together on that soft and gentle night, the only sound coming from chirping crickets and JPG's own jetpacks, which were humming softly in the background.

At last, then, JPG and Riley turned their gazes away from the estate and back on one another. In a moment of perfect serenity, their gazes deepened and intensified until, before they even realized what they were doing, they had started to kiss. JPG's lips felt rough and warm beneath Riley's and Riley's felt smooth and delicate under JPG's. The inventor and her damsel, lost in one another's lips and hearts as the beautiful serenity of nature surrounded them from all sides, above and below. The night sky was cold and crisp and clear. The stars seemed to laugh as they twinkled. The smell of wildlife and the flora and fauna of nature was on the refreshing breeze. Dark things moved swiftly across the ground, the night hustling and bustling with its own little universe and life all its own.

Riley may have been relatively new to the world, but the things she had seen so far were so beautiful and wonderful that it was hard for her to think that such a thing as "evil" could ever exist in a world so happy and flawless. After spending centuries alone, on the brink of madness, with no one but four glass walls to keep her company, being in nature was the best gift she could've ever imagined. It was endless and boundless, no more confinements or chains at all. Just freedom. The only thing even better than nature was the girl she was lucky enough to enjoy it with: JPG. To Riley, nature symbolized everything she had never had before: life, freedom, hope... and love.

And JPG felt the same way. As an inventor, there was no place she loved more than her lab. She liked it went it was hot and steamy. She liked when gears and cogs rattled and clattered away. She loved the electricity and the sight and the sound and the smells. She loved all the bangs and breaks. She loved the feeling of a full and cluttered workshop, teeming with metallic life and buzzing and whirring. It never felt crowded to her, just warm and homey. There was an electric thrill about being in a busy workshop full of robotic bits and bobs and pieces and parts. But now, soaring over the mansion with Riley in her arms, the inventor decided that if there was one place she adored more than her steampunk workshop, it was within the heart of nature itself, and in the heart of the girl whom she loved.

**AN: An "Escape the Night" S2 sequel where JPG and Riley take over the mansion after the surviving YouTubers leave it. It never says the mansion was totally erased from existence after Tyler breaks the spell over it, just that time finally starts ticking there again, so I'm just going to assume that it continues to stand and JPG and Riley become its new owners (because they deserve a happy ending!)**


	14. Beca X Kommissar: Art

In the years following the USO Tour, every Barden Bella went her own separate way and managed to find a good life, even if it wasn't the life that they had first envisioned. Beca, herself, was living in one of those "semi-ever after" situations, currently working as a producer, manager and consultant at a halfway decent record company. It wasn't exactly to a Taylor Swift level of fame, but it was no janky little corner store either. When all was said and done she found herself feeling... satisfied. If nothing else.

But there finally came a time when satisfaction wasn't enough for the young artist anymore. As much as she liked being satisfied, she still wanted more. She didn't just want to feel ok and content, she wanted to feel thrilled and fiery and passionate. She wanted something to really energize and fulfill her! But no matter what she did, nothing could bring that burning delight back into her spirit. Instead, it was only ever that serene and mundane little satisfaction. It was pleasant, but that was all.

Her art, which had once been her greatest pride and joy, was now only a little creature comfort. She still adored her art deeply, but it no longer stoked the fires of her heart, and that was what tryuly left her feeling so unfulfilled and hollow, despite how steady her life was at the time. But she didn't want steady, she wanted exciting! She wanted art! Not a passing hobby. She wanted a passion! She wanted her real art back!

But even though Beca couldn't seem to find that energetic inspiration, that didn't mean that the energetic inspiration couldn't find her. Instead, against all odds and expectations, it finally managed to make its way right to Beca's door, and it came in the form of a very eerily familiar face. A very _gorgeous _eerily familiar face. And that face had a thick, snobby German accent. Oh no...

"Ah! Tiny Mouse! We meet again!"

"Holy crap, dude, no way!"

But sure enough, it was. The Kommissar, the fearless and flawless leader of the German acappella team called "Das Sound Machine", was back in town, and even though it had been many years since she and Beca last met, it was as if nothing had changed for them at all. Kommissar was still impossibly and unfairly long, blond and handsome while Beca was still reduced to a babbling, blubbering mess of a gay puddle whenever the powerful German singer was around. All it took was one cocky smirk from that drop-dead gorgeous face to undo all of Beca's own confidence and reduce her to the mouse the German so loved to call her. It was embarrassing, but it was like all of her control flew out the window whenever Kommissar was around. Even now, all Beca could do was stare (way) up at her and gawk.

"Ah, Mouse, it is good to see that you have not changed in all the years we have been apart!" sapphire blue eyes twinkled merrily as a tall figure stared down at the much smaller, meeker figure in the doorway.

"And what are _you _doing here?" came the pathetic attempt at standing her ground.

"I am here to perhaps make a record deal with the owner of this record company," Kommissar replied. "And you are very much in my way."

"Hey! I'm in nobody's way!" Beca frowned, but when Kommissar only raised one flawlessly sculpted eyebrow, Beca was quick to give a nervous gulp and step over. Kommissar gave her a smug nod before sauntering on inside, hips swaying tauntingly as she walked past Beca.

"Thank you, darling, I am glad you still see things my way," she purred as she walked past. Beca could only stare after her, aghast and agape...

As cruel fate would have it, even though Kommissar had come to do business with Beca's boss, Beca wound up being the one Kommissar spent most of her time with. As another higher-up in that business, her boss knew that she knew how to handle this sort of deal and had hurriedly pointed the German in her direction.

"Oh, crap!" Beca whimpered when she got the news that she was to be in charge of helping Kommissar make and uphold a contract with the company. Beca had wanted to die right then and there, but the sexy German goddess of music refused to let her go that easily.

"Even death shall not take you away from me!" she insisted, grabbing Beca's arm and all but carrying her into an empty recording studio nearby. Beca's mind instantly went to the gutter as she imagined all the things she could do to the German (or have the German do to her) if they were to lock that door. The studio had soundproof walls and doors after all...

"Oh, crap!" Beca repeated as her mind continued to play dirty with her, but this time, her exclamation was one of resignation instead of fear. She could only allow Kommissar to continue to drag her along, helpless but to obey the singer's mighty muscles and commanding aura.

But it was funny, as nervous and rueful as Beca had been about needing to work with Kommissar again after so long, things went far better than expected. Beca was still a helpless, hopeless gay mess around Kommissar, but since the two were no longer working as rivals, Beca did not need to spend as much time focusing on upkeeping a rival persona. That was a small weight off her shoulders and it meant that Kommissar, though she still loved to tease Beca mercilessly, was no longer quite as pushy, showy or mean. She was still quite prideful and arrogant, but that hostile flavor of their relationship was gone. It made things a tad easier for Beca. Though the idea of getting chummy with Kommissar was terrifying in its own right. But what could Beca do except work with her client and do the best she could to be the girl her boss thought she was?

As time passed, Beca succeeded, and she and Kommissar actually did manage to strike up a very genuine friendship. It was still a bit guarded on both sides and Beca still complimented Kommissar nearly nonstop, but she no longer felt quite so terrified whenever the German was near. She still blushed and stuttered like a simpering little idiot, but she no longer feared for her life or her sanity whenever Kommissar came near. Instead, it was more of a resigned fondness and a muted embarrassment...

"-and if we had a child, it would be _normal_ sized!" Beca was in the middle of musing, but then she seemed to realize what she had just said and she was quick to slap a hand over her forehead in embarrassment and outrage with herself. Kommissar, however, only seemed to find the remark amusing, and she laughed accordingly. Beca had been in the middle of musing about their size difference (Beca being slightly smaller than an average woman while Kommissar was far larger than an average woman) when she made the offhanded remark that a child between the two of them might come out normal. Kommissar had quite liked such an idea, but Beca found it both stupid and mortifying and had reacted as such.

"If it makes you feel any better, mouse, I did used to be teased quite mercilessly for my rather large size," the German offered through a huff of laughter. This made Beca frown, both with disbelief that anyone would ever dare tease such a fierce and fearsome woman, and hurt to think that there was ever a time in her life when Kommissar had been bullied, mocked or ostracized.

"It's true, it's true!" Kommissar promised, seeing the look of disbelief on Beca's face. "When I was a "little" girl, the others used to mock me for being so tall and gangly and awkward. They called me "Daddy Long Legs" and "Moose" and an array of other insulting nicknames and none of the boys ever wanted to dance with me because what good and normal man wished to have a girlfriend who was taller than he was?" Kommissar shook her head with a bittersweet expression. "My height used to be an insecurity of mine, silly as it may sound. But the people I knew growing up were quite ruthless and they never let me forget how freakishly and abnormally tall and lanky I was!"

And that had been one of the first times the old duo ever really bonded. Beca had grown indignant on Kommissar's behalf, ranting against Kommissar's old tormentors, much to Kommissar's pleasure. And then Beca, herself, had confessed how rough it was growing up short. The pitfalls to this upbringing weren't hard to imagine. The size jokes, the literal belittling, and being a woman meant that sexist remarks were sometimes thrown in as well. So the two were actually quite well-matched in that regard, able to bond over their mutual size-problems, even though they remained on opposite ends of the spectrum in this case.

"But size does not matter now, does it, Mouse?" Kommissar teased with a suggestive little wink, but before Beca could try and ask what she meant by this, nervous giggle and all, Kommissar showed her mercy and gave her a different answer.

"After all, you and your little Barden Bellas were able to upstage all of DSM at the World Tour. Clearly the biggest is not always the best."

And for once, Beca had been struck dumb by the Kommissar, not because of her flawlessness or gorgeousness (though those were still things that tripped Beca up nearly every time they hung out) but because of the fact that, for the first time ever, Kommissar had actually, genuinely, complimented Beca. It was the first time Kommissar had ever said anything truly praising about the tiny American, and it was the first time she'd ever been willing to admit that she'd lost the world championship to a group of disgraced college students. Beca had no idea how to reply, so she didn't, but Kommissar understood what Beca's silence meant, and she took it all with one amused smirk.

From that day forward, an easier friendship began between the two of them. Even though that old flame and old messy chemistry was still there, Kommissar had grown far more relaxed since her first ever defeat (being beaten really had done wonders for her, making her far more laidback than she'd ever been before) and she was far more open with Beca now than she'd ever been before. Beca finally had something real to cling to in this change of heart from Kommissar and a real relationship was finally able to grow when, in earlier years, petty pride and silly, foolish rivalries had kept them firmly on opposite sides.

Beca and Kommissar began to spend an increasing amount of time together, in and out of the studio, and whenever they were together, along with romance, music was a very topic for the two of them. Whether they talked about personal projects, or each other's works and whether they talked theory or reality did not matter. Music was one of the biggest things for either of them, and they soon began to produce together, creating new music side by side and recording in a joint effort, instead of as two soloists.

"Excellent work, Mouse!" Kommissar praised sincerely as she and Beca finished recording another German tune Kommissar had written herself. It was nothing too complex, but she was genuinely proud of Beca for being able to sing the words so well, and she no longer had any problem in revealing this pride for Beca in full. It was so different from the strict and emotionless singer from years past. Now, she no longer hid herself, and was quite obviously pleased with what Beca had done. Beca, herself, was blushing with pride, her own ability to hide her emotions vanishing as entirely as Kommissar's had.

"Danke schön," she joked and Kommissar's smile widened as she heard Beca respond in her mother tongue.

Without even realizing it, Beca's spark had come back. It had crept up on her, but she finally realized it one day that her fiery passion and zeal for life had returned. She hadn't even realized it creeping back up on her and into her heart until it was already there, but suddenly, she was aware of it again. Suddenly, she was no longer just satisfied or content. Instead, she felt driven and ready, ready to go to new heights and explore uncharted territory, both in the world of music, and in her own mind. She suddenly truly felt alive again, and not as if she were merely getting by from day to day. And as she sat there in a recording room with Kommissar at her side, both of them belting away in German, it didn't take her long to realize what, or rather who, had been the one to give her back this zest and zeal for life.

Back when Beca had been making music alone, although it had been fun, what really made it so passionate and lively was having someone to work with. Art was always better when there was someone around to admire it, whether that be an audience member or a cocreator. Now, with Kommissar back at her life and at her side, Beca finally had that someone. She had that someone to share her art with. And someone who shared art with her. In a mutual round, the two went back and forth with each other, each woman sharing her art with the other before helping the other perfect that art. It was like an endless melody where the harmony parts intertwined and switched up to compliment one another and create a full song, each part getting its own little solo to shine before easily slipping back into the chorus to create the full work of art.

With Kommissar finally around to sing the harmony parts, Beca's life felt like a full song again and she had never felt happier. She was no longer just satisfied, she was truly happy, and she felt like a work of art, each and every note that she and Kommissar sung hanging in the air all around them and completing the masterpiece until nothing but the purest of art remained.

**AN: In honor of "Art Day", we've got my favorite Pitch Perfect pairing. (Music is an art, so it counts :P)**


	15. Captain X Maxim: Serenity

"You know, you could afford to take a breather every once in a while, right?" Captain quirked a bushy brown eyebrow in amusement as his husband continued to run around like a chicken with its head cut off.

"Not now, Captain! We've still got a few more papers left to fill out and file!" came the urgent reply. This remark earned an eyeroll from Captain. As much as he adored his husband, that man still had a lot left to learn about rest and relaxation. He didn't seem to have an off-switch and was constantly high-strung. It didn't matter the time or place, Maxim was always busy attending to something, or trying to attend to something. He had the heart of a great leader pounding in his chest, but he seemed to forget that even the best of leaders needed to take a break every once in a while.

Captain already had that lesson learned, reclining by the door as he waited for Maxim to get his life together, though at the rate things were going, he and Maxim would both be very dead by the time Maxim's life finally caught up with itself and got itself together.

"Come on! We paid good money for those reservations!" Captain called out, still leaning against the doorway.

"I'll be right there!" Maxim shouted back impatiently. Captain could only chuckle to himself. Maxim had said that about five times already and the fact that both of them had still not left the house spoke for itself about how well Maxim was at keeping his word when he said something like that.

At last, though, the duo was finally in the car, but even on the ride over to the restaurant at which they had made reservations, Maxim continued to twitch and fiddle nervously.

"Seriously, Maxim?" Captain teased as his husband continued to straighten his clothing, smoothing out every little last fold he managed to find.

"I have to look presentable!" the smaller man shot back.

"You look fine, dear," Captain continued to tease before gesturing to his own attire. Both of the men had cleaned up nicely, but Captain did always have a naturally wild appearance about him, and even when he was dressed up to the nines, some of that untamed look still remained with him. He was trying to point out that Maxim would look fine, especially when they stood together, just because Captain was not exactly a flawless figure.

But Maxim waved it off impatiently. He already knew Captain, especially with his giant beard and mustache, would always look a bit untamed, but Maxim held himself at a far higher standard, wanting to look even more than impeccable and perfect. Captain pretended to despair as he and his husband finally reached their destination, Maxim still "fixing" his outfit.

"So, were you planning on making conversation and eating with me tonight, or just bonding with your outfit?" the larger man chuckled. Even about 10 minutes into their dinner, Maxim still looked worried and hurried, clearly distracted by thoughts of other things. Captain forgave him easily, knowing that it was hard for Maxim to turn off and let go, but that didn't mean he was just going to sit idly by and let his husband ignore him. Especially on a date night. So he continued to tease Maxim, but that only served to make Maxim more and more anxious and frustrated.

It all came to a head when Maxim finally snapped.

"Captain! I am just trying to make this a nice evening for the two of us! I'm sorry if that's such a crime! But would it really kill you to pitch in as well? I don't see _you _doing much to help keep this date night afloat!" it was a very harsh thing to say and Maxim regretted it at once, burying his face in his hands with a despairing moan. Captain was about to get angry and indignant, this remark finally cutting him, but when he saw Maxim wilt, as if trying to cave in on himself, Captain's anger was quickly overridden by compassion.

"I'm not doing anything to keep this night afloat because, as far as I'm concerned, it's already sailing along just fine all on its own," he soothed, reaching out a giant hand to gently pat his husband on the back.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!" Maxim muttered in despair behind his hands.

"For what?" Captain asked with a gentle and sympathetic smile. "You are already forgiven for everything. What do you have left to apologize for?"

10 minutes later, the two men had called a premature ending to their little dinner date. Captain was the one to make the announcement to the waiter, apologizing before excusing himself and Maxim from the restaurant. Maxim looked absolutely crushed, but even though their dinner was over, their night out on the town was not. Instead, Captain took Maxim down to the river that ran through the city. There were several bridges spanning across the river, one of which was for pedestrians to walk on, but Captain did not take Maxim to the bridges. Instead, he took his husband to the little area of land beside the river, where other families were out and about, playing and walking and eating, enjoying the nice evening at the waterfront. With a smile, Captain escorted Maxim right to the heart of this little peaceful, gentle hub of activity and waved an arm to it.

"I think we'll spend our night together here instead," he decided.

"This place?" Maxim looked uncertain, but he was still too embarrassed to grow too assertive.

"It is far nicer than any silly old diner," Captain nodded, brown eyes twinkling merrily in the sunset.

"Nicer?" Maxim sounded as if he couldn't believe that Captain somehow preferred a waterfront to a five-star eatery.

"It's because this place is far more relaxed and peaceful. It's not as high-end... or high-strung," the larger man wrapped an arm around his husband and gave him a knowing look. Again, Maxim wilted, but before he could start apologizing again, Captain kissed him gently on the cheek before leading him over to an empty patch of grass. They both sat down, Captain immediately taking the smaller man into his arms and heaving a peaceful and happy sigh as he smiled into the warm summer wind.

For a little, Maxim continued to look discontent, but the longer and longer he sat there in silence, just resting and reveling in Captain's arms as they overlooked the simple but beautiful little waterfront, the happier and happier he became. With the hustle and bustle of life subdued here, all of Maxim's stress melted away into contentedness. He relaxed deeper into Captain's bearhug and Captain smiled as he felt Maxim slowly but surely unwinding until he was like a ragdoll, finally fully at peace. Maxim's eyes drifted shut dreamily as he let the warm wind ghosting off the river caress his face. Now at last, he understood why Captain preferred this place to a diner. Now at last, he understood why Captain had wanted to bring him here rather than anywhere else. Now at last, he understood why this place was so desirable to so many. It was so full of simplicity and serenity, and now at last, so was Maxim. Nothing but peace and serenity as he lay happily in the arms of the man he loved.

**AN: Sorry I posted this so late, my wifi was down. But anyway, yeah, this is probably my second favorite ship in my original story (hope that doesn't sound conceited!)**


	16. Danger Mouse X Penfold: Spirit

Penfold heaved a sigh and twiddled his thumbs in defeat. Although the tiny hamster was very meek and mild, often longing for a simple and cozy life, something always kept him back at the Danger Agency. Even though all common sense should've told him to resign and find a nice little office job, maybe an IT support worker, he simply could not bear the thought of leaving the Danger Agency. As fraught with... well... danger (as one might expect from a place called "the Danger Agency") as it was, there was also something almost... homey about it. And that was what Penfold adored most of all: that feeling of home, that sense of belonging. As out of place as a demure little hamster like him was in a place like the Danger Agency, he always felt at home there, and he liked it that way.

But what really made it feel like home? What made such a hustling and bustling secret agency feel like home to someone as plain and simple as him? Well, the answer lay within one of the secret agents of the DA. His name was Danger Mouse, and Penfold adored him. In every sense of the word, Penfold loved Danger Mouse. He wasn't quite sure when or where or even how it had happened, he just remembered looking up one day and suddenly realizing how deeply in love with the White Wonder he was. Was it the handsome and toned figure? The bright and confident yellow eye? The sleek white fur? The daring and cocky expressions he always wore? His commanding and soothing voice? His powerful posture? His drive and daring? His ability to save the day, no matter how hopeless it all seemed?

The answer was a combination of all of these things, and Penfold finally chalked it up into one simple word: spirit. Danger Mouse's spirit, that was what Penfold was in love with. And he loved Danger Mouse's spirit on multiple levels. The first and foremost was obvious: he loved Danger Mouse's sense of adventure, strength, courage and bravado. No other agent of the Danger Agency was quite as grandiose or extreme as Danger Mouse, and even though his antics often terrified Penfold half to death, Penfold knew life would be very boring and painful without the electric thrill Danger Mouse exuded from his every word and action. His death-defying stunts in the Danger Car often left Penfold with an empty stomach (and bladder), but it left his own spirit feeling so much fuller! He loved going on all those wild and crazy death-missions with Danger Mouse because he loved the thrill of it all, and nothing gave him a greater thrill than serving at his beloved Chief's side. Penfold wore the title "sidekick" with pride.

But even beyond Danger Mouse's spirit in the sense of his hotheaded and almost brash nature, Penfold loved Danger Mouse's _spirit_. He loved the mouse behind the mask. Although cocky and confident was Danger Mouse's natural personality, no pretense or deceit there, Danger Mouse was no god. He was a normal person just like any other in London. He had feelings, fears, weaknesses and doubts as well, even if he would never ever, ever, EVER admit it. But Penfold loved that about him. He loved all of Danger Mouse's imperfections and flaws, big and small. There was something more endearing about a broken and uncertain Danger Mouse than there was about the perfect and heroic Danger Mouse. Of course, that wasn't to say Penfold preferred the flawed Danger Mouse over the confident one, that was just to say that Penfold appreciated all of Danger Mouse's flaws just as much as he appreciated the heroics. The flaws brought a level of humanity to Danger Mouse that nothing else ever could.

But even beyond Danger Mouse's spirit in the sense of his true self and humanity (flaws and all), Penfold loved the implications of all of this. Danger Mouse, as a secret agent, came into contact with a great deal of people, heroic and villainous. As such, he put on a lot of shows and acts. What Penfold really liked, then, about Danger Mouse's spirit was realizing what it meant for _him_. He was the only one to ever see the more weak and vulnerable side to the White Wonder. Penfold was the only one to ever see Danger Mouse's true spirit. This was both an honor and a pleasure to the hamster, who felt both emboldened and humbled by the realization that he was the only creature in all of London (no, the entire _universe_) to ever see the weaker sides to Danger Mouse. It filled him with pride to realize he was the only one Danger Mouse loved and trusted enough to confess to as a confidante...

"Chief?" Penfold stuck his little head into the Danger Lounge. Danger Mouse was sitting inside, alone, and looking quite defeated. He was sitting on the couch, but instead of being in a typical laidback position, he was hunched over head bowed.

"Chief?" Penfold repeated in concern, quickly rushing over to his hero's side.

"Hello, Penfold," came a very un-Danger Mouse voice. It sounded heavy and sad instead of confident and cheerful.

"Crikey, Chief! What's happened to ya?" the hamster placed a hand on the mouse's hunched back.

"Oh, nothing, Penfold," came the labored sigh. "I just don't feel very much myself today..."

"Why ever not, Chief? You are you, aren't you?" he asked, suddenly worried that maybe this mouse was not _his _mouse, but an imposter.

"Yes, yes, it is me, just as sure as you are Penfold," Danger Mouse replied, still sounding terribly aged and sad. It was very out of character.

"Not quite true, Chief," Penfold shook his head. "For I am most certainly Penfold, but you? You aren't quite Danger Mouse. Maybe you mostly are, but I sense that there's still something not quite right in all of this..."

This awkward back-and-forth carried on for some time before Danger Mouse finally confessed to what was plaguing him.

"I just worry that all of this is becoming meaningless, Penfold! No matter how many times we save the day, it never stays that way for long before something _else_ manages to go wrong, undoing all of our previous work! I'm starting to wonder if I'm not as great a hero as I think. I mean, what other secret agent would let his main rival escape prison so often?! Am I doing something wrong!?"

And in that one little confession, Penfold was once again rendered speechless with pleasure and honor. Danger Mouse _never _confessed his doubts and fears so openly, so to be allowed to be there when Danger Mouse finally self-disclosed reminded Penfold once again of how much he meant to the secret agent. It did his timid little heart wonders to realize that Danger Mouse really did love him too, even if it he didn't show it too often. Danger Mouse was not the cuddly type, so his self-disclosure to Penfold was as good as any kiss, or hug, or "I love you". And Penfold was quick to respond with his own. Knowing that the Chief was not a fan of physical affection, Penfold adopted his new love-language of kind and encouraging words. Those were what would really get through to Danger Mouse...

"You're right, Chief, that we end up needing to save the world at least once an episode, if not more! But that's not really your fault! That's the fault of the writers of our show! They always want to see something new and exciting, so how else can they do that except by making up little plot conveniences that kick off the overarching conflict of the storyline? It's certainly no fault of your own that our enemies keep escaping prison! You do your very best, Chief! No one can doubt that! Besides, I thought you liked all the danger!"

"I do, Penfold," the mouse agreed. "But it just gets a bit disheartening sometimes to realize that as powerful as I am, it still is all very shallow and hollow. If I were truly a hero, I would be able to keep these baddies locked up forever! Not just until the next episode begins."

"Nonsense, Chief!" Penfold cried. "There are plenty of superheroes on our favorite TV shows that are always fighting the same old villains over and over again. Like I said, what would a hero's story be without a few good villains?"

"But am I really a hero, Penfold?" Danger Mouse demanded, getting to the heart of his little existential crisis.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then Penfold answered, sounding more certain than he'd ever been before.

"Yes, Chief," he said. "Yes you are! And do you want to know why? It's because you have _spirit_."

"Spirit?" Danger Mouse echoed dryly. That wasn't exactly what he thought Penfold might've decided to go with to cheer him up. But this time, Penfold wasn't letting up. Instead, he only nodded firmly once again.

"Yes Chief, _spirit_," he said firmly. "You are a hero and a fighter. Even if you do end up nearly destroying the world once an episode, you never back down from a fight or a challenge. Even if you don't have the luck of a hero, you certainly have the heart of one, and that's what really counts! In my book, at least... Why do you think I stick around with you and the Danger Agency, huh? It's because of you, Chief! Y'see, I may only be your lowly and little sidekick, but I take great pride in working at your side. You're always so... lively, and spirited! And I admire that greatly, Chief! It's one of the things I love the most about you, your spirit! Your sense of courage and perseverance. Sure, maybe you could use a bit more work on your sense of compassion and empathy, but hey, nobody's perfect, right?"

Penfold started to twiddle his thumbs again as he continued to deliver his speech about how much he loved Danger Mouse, and Danger Mouse's unbreakable spirit. Soon, Danger Mouse's one remaining eye began to water and he put on a little smile as he continued to listen to the hamster talk. From the very second Penfold first walked into the room, Danger Mouse had secretly felt relieved. He had been feeling down for the past few days and he knew that if there was anyone in all of London who could cheer him up, it would be his bumbling assistant. Part of the reason Danger Mouse kept Penfold around was for that very reason, an ego boost. It wasn't because Penfold was actually good at being a secret agent (because Heaven knew he was terrible at it), but rather, it was because Danger Mouse knew he could always count on Penfold for a compliment or two. He was so bad at everything that of course he saw Danger Mouse as something of a god.

But today, Danger Mouse was caught off guard by what Penfold was saying. He'd expected another paint-by-numbers speech or cliché compliment to stroke his ego, but instead, he got a very heartfelt confession from the little brown hamster, and it really tugged at his heartstrings. Having not expected to feel anything today, he could only smile up at Penfold with tears in his yellow eye as the hamster continued to speak from his heart. It was funny, Danger Mouse thought, to listen to Penfold extol him for his spirit. He hadn't realized how great an actor he was until Penfold kept going on and on about his unbreakable spirit. Little did the hamster know how tumultuous Danger Mouse's heart really was. It was not nearly as stoic as Penfold was describing it. But then Danger Mouse began to realize why.

It wasn't just because he was a good actor, it was because of Penfold. Danger Mouse had been relying on Penfold just as much as the inverse. And he wasn't just relying on Penfold for the occasional ego boost, but because Penfold was the one person he loved most in all of the world. Penfold was his purpose and his drive. Everything Danger Mouse did was because of/for Penfold. It was why he kept his little sidekick close to his side at all times. As incompetent as the little hamster was, he had his own brand of spirit that Danger Mouse needed desperately. He was sure he needed it even more than he needed air to breathe!

Penfold may not have realized it, but he really did have his own brand of spirit and Danger Mouse needed it to keep on keeping on. Penfold was strong, brave, quick-witted and fiercely loyal. Maybe not in the classic sense, but he did have his own sort of bravery and intelligence. And not only that, but his faith in Danger Mouse never wavered... EVER. Even when Danger Mouse's own self-confidence was gone, Penfold remained so blindly trusting and enamored that it gave Danger Mouse the strength and drive to keep on keeping on, because he wanted to live up to that high standard Penfold was unwittingly holding him to. Without Penfold, Danger Mouse wouldn't even be half the hero he was today. Penfold was his drive and his mediator, his voice of support and reason.

At last, then, Danger Mouse interrupted Penfold's little speech, unable to hold it inside any longer.

"You talk about me as if I am the one with spirit, but I beg to differ," he cried out at last. "It is you, Penfold, who truly has spirit, and I love you for it!" then he went on his own long declaration of love and affirmation, repeating all of the things that had been circling around his head for the past few minutes, and it was Penfold's turn to get starry and teary-eyed as he listened to his idol extol the virtues he hadn't even realized he had. Penfold could only gasp in wonder as Danger Mouse recounted all of their daring missions and adventures, citing how useful Penfold had been in all of them, even when he was part of the problem in the first place!

"Do you remember what I told you on one of our missions, Penfold?" the mouse finally asked. "I said to you that I nearly lost my best friend every week and it was the thing that drove me, keeping him safe. What drives me is my desire to serve and protect, especially you Penfold. I want to make the world a better place, for everyone, especially you. But how can I when every problem I fix only generates another?"

"Oh, Chief," Penfold sighed sympathetically. "I appreciate the concern, I really do, but I don't think I want my world to be safe."

"What?" Danger Mouse sounded dumbfounded. He was seconds away from asking "Who are you and what have you done to the real Penfold?"

"I mean, Chief, that while I do want the world to be safe, the reason I work here at all is because I like the danger. I like _you_, Danger Mouse. I don't want the world to be totally safe, or else all of that danger will go away. Your spirit will go away. I like your spirit, but it won't be put to good use if every villain in the world just goes and vanishes! Like I said, every hero story needs a few good villains! And like I also just said, I kind of like the danger..." the hamster began to blush, looking shyly away from Danger Mouse's eye as he said this.

Danger Mouse, meanwhile, looked as if he couldn't get enough of Penfold.

"Then let me be the first to tell you, my mighty little sidekick," he began, reaching out and suddenly scooping Penfold up for a hug. "The danger loves you just as much!" and Penfold could only swoon again as he felt his Chief's arms wrap around his tiny body. It was a very rare day when Danger Mouse was so openly affectionate, especially physically, so to be embraced by him made Penfold feel lucky beyond all comprehension.

"Oh, Chief!" he sighed happily, reflexively snuggling back into the mouse's sleek white fur, and for once, Danger Mouse let him, making no move of pushing the clingy little hamster away for quite a while longer.

**AN: This cute little British kids' cartoon is basically Mouse James Bond and I ship him with his sidekick. It's the only ship that rivals the one other I have in the fandom, which is essentially with the show's local Sandy Cheeks character. I honestly don't know which one I'd rather have become canon, this ship, or the other one. It's very conflicting, LOL. **


	17. Quincy: Pink

**AN: Halfway through! We're back to the colors!**

"Well don't you just look absolutely spiffing," Maggie teased as Quincy strutted out of his dressing room in full drag attire. He wore a massive pink dress that was covered in pearls and pink feathers and the hips of the dress were almost as wide as the door.

"I'm not even a Drag Queen at this point, I'm a Drag _Empress_!" Quincy agreed, tossing his thick, luscious curls with a dramatic expression on. They, like his outfit, were a bright, blinding, bubblegum pink. And all of the makeup and glitter he'd so carefully applied to his face and hair were pink as well. The reason he was overdoing it on the pink was because tonight's drag show was themed after the original Pride flag and one of the colors on this version was pink. He'd even gone so far as to purchase bright pink contacts to cover up his orange eyes. He had originally been asked to do the orange stripe, but even from the start, he'd expressed a distaste for that idea.

"Too cliché!" he had said. "I am well aware of what color my eyes are, but pink would be more fun, I think!" and from that point on, that was his assigned color for the drag show.

"Well, are you ready to go on?" Princeton asked, having also worn a bit of pink tonight as a way to show support for his best friend. Even though there was no competition with tonight's show, people still wore specific colors to either support a performer they knew or to display what their favorite stripe on the flag was. Maggie had worn pink as well, but it wasn't just out of support for Quincy. It was because the pink stripe on the original flag represented sex/sexuality, and Maggie was definitely all about both.

"Honey, I was born ready!" Quincy replied with a massive grin.

"Then allow me to escort you, my lady," Princeton laughed in return, giving Quincy a slight bow before offering him his arm. It was quite a comical sight, Princeton being so scrawny and Quincy being extra large today due to his giant dress. But Quincy and Princeton did their best to make it work, awkwardly linking arms while Maggie followed behind, snickering.

After leaving the line of dressing rooms behind, the pink-clad trio ascended a staircase that took them to the backstage area of the theater at which they were performing. Already, a rainbow of people were waiting for them, both in front of and behind the curtain. Peeking between a gap in the rainbow curtains, Quincy could see every color in the spectrum being represented. He saw most of his family wearing pink, in honor of him, but two of his siblings had intentionally worn orange to make fun of him (because that's what siblings were for) and all around, other familiar faces were present too, each of them wearing a different color.

"Are you guys ready?!" a breathless voice asked excitedly. It was Emma Embry, the fourth in their little circle of friends. She, unlike the rest of them, wore a blindingly suit (in honor of her very, very sunny disposition). She was going to be the announcer for the show and was eagerly waiting for the last few drag queens (and kings) to arrive so that she could start the show.

"Honey, I was born ready!" Quincy repeated himself from earlier. Emma gave him a big thumbs up.

After a few minutes, the show was finally ready to start.

"In honor of our wonderful Pride flag, tonight's theme will cover every color and every meaning in the original Pride flag!" Emma began. "But we aren't just going to go down the line in order, because where's the fun in that? Instead, it'll be up to fate to decide who goes first..." right as she said this, the curtain separating the performers from the audience was raised. Princeton and Maggie were quick to jump away, leaving Quincy alone. He raised his chin proudly as fellow performers quickly flocked into line after him. There were several other kings and queens in pink and there were a wide variety of performers for all of the other colors as well. Quincy gave them a quick, excited nod, which they returned with eager thumbs ups.

Then, once the curtain had risen completely, a roar filled the hall as the audience got a first glimpse of its kings and queens. Once everyone settled back down, Emma continued with her explanation. Hanging over all of their heads was a giant color wheel with an arrow (its tip shaped like a heart) hanging at its very top. It was going to be spun and whatever color was picked would be the color that was presented first. The kings and queens in each color would choose who among them performed first.

"Are you ready?!" Emma shouted out excitedly.

"YES!" came the thunderous reply.

"Then let's DO THIS!" Emma made a sweeping motion with her hand and someone off-stage clicked the button that caused the wheel to turn. At first, it spun very fast, but as it began to slow down, everyone began to roar again as the excitement and tension got higher and higher. At last then, the wheel was only... just... marginally... turning... and... then... GREEN!

"Nuts!" the drag queen beside Quincy pretended to snap her fingers in dismay and Quincy laughed in agreement. At the same time, two performers both in very skimpy and sexual outfits pranced in front of the group while all the other performers took a step further back into the shadows.

When the wheel was spun for the fourth time, it finally landed on pink.

"YES!" the drag queen beside Quincy looked like she was about to faint from excitement.

"Don't die before you even get to perform!" one of the kings joked.

"Oh, honey, I've already died like 20 times!" the queen replied dramatically. "These heels are killer!" and Quincy and the others had to agree. Although it was clear this queen was very well-practiced in the art of walking in impossibly and painfully high heels, her heels were still so tall that they made Quincy's feet hurt and he wasn't even wearing anything that dramatic.

"Alright, so which of us is going first?" Quincy found himself asking, though he immediately laughed at himself because the answer was all too clear. Of course it was going to be his fellow drag queen. She was already strutting towards the center of the stage before Quincy could even finish asking the entire question. The drag kings snickered at him.

But after the first pink drag queen was finished, the drag kings agreed to let Quincy go next.

"We'll do our set last and close for you in case you royally screw up, your majesty!" they teased and Quincy, suddenly nervous, gave them a weak smile in return, but one of the kings took mercy on him and comforted him gently.

"Don't you worry, you'll do fantastic! Your outfit already proves how much dedication you have to this craft, everything else will be a breeze!" and the words were just enough to lift Quincy's spirits again. He gave the king a grateful smile before it was his turn to take center stage. A hush settled over the crowd and Quincy felt his stomach drop, but just a second later, so did the beat, and suddenly, he felt his smile and his spirits soar again.

"Looks like I'm in the pink!" he murmured, and then he said no more as the main melody began to play.

**AN: Characters from my latest original story, which I will pick up again once this anthology is complete. **


	18. Kara X Lena: Red

**AN: Read the first half for SuperCorp fluff or the second half for angst. Or read both for both, whatever floats your boat!**

In just one single, simple look, Kara's entire world went red. Suddenly, everything else was gone. It was just Red. Red, red, red. She couldn't remember the diner, she couldn't remember the man sitting across from the Red, she couldn't even remember the man who was currently holding her hand. All she could see, or think about, or remember, was the Red. Lena. Lena Luthor's Red. The red dress Lena was wearing on this little dinner date with the man whose name Kara had already forgotten in that one little flash of red.

Then the man holding Kara's hand gave her a little nudge, and Kara was instantly shot back to the present. Jack. Jack Spheer. That was his name. The man sitting across from the Red was named Jack Spheer. And the man holding her hand, Kara's hand, was Mon-El. They had come here in order to find Lena and help her out with this date with the mysterious Jack Spheer, an old flame of hers. Flame. How fitting. Something else Red.

But brought back to attention by Mon-El gently squeezing her hand, Kara instantly forced on a big fat grin before she and Mon-El approached Lena and Jack, both of them looking like giddy little school children.

"Oh my God! Are you guys eating here?!" Kara shrilled, voice almost painfully high-pitched.

"We're eating here!" she pointed to herself and Mon-El as they both spoke in perfect unison, still grinning like idiots. The look on Lena's face said it all. She could only shake her head with a disbelieving and embarrassed little laugh.

"What a complete and utter coincidence," she said, having never sounded more sarcastic or disbelieving in her life.

"Ms. Danvers," Jack greeted Kara with a polite but guarded nod.

"Ah, yes, this is my boyfriend, Mike!" Kara introduced Mon-El, but the moment she said that last word, she felt a shiver run down her spine, and the word suddenly felt foreign in her mouth. Boyfriend? No, Mon-El wasn't her boyfriend. Or at least, she didn't want him to be. She wanted Lena, she wanted the Red... But she continued to keep that happy, preppy ear-to-ear grin on her face as she skipped merrily over to Lena.

"Do you mind if we join?" she asked, already taking a seat right beside Lena, in the place where she felt most at home and where she knew she most belonged. Meanwhile, Mon-El was busily greeting Jack with a boyish grin.

"Kara, I appreciate the rescue, but it's really not necessary!" Lena had whispered as soon as Kara was seated.

"That's what friends are for!" came the too-happy, too-possessive reply, but Lena completely missed it, only giving Kara another uncertain but amused smile as she turned back to face Jack once again. For the second time that night, Kara saw Red, but this time, it wasn't as pleasant.

Kara tried to weasel a bit more information out of the mysterious Jack Spheer over the course of that interrupted, impromptu double-date dinner, but before long, he and Lena had managed to strike up a conversation again, slowly but surely pushing Kara back out of it.

"Maybe another time, Ms. Danvers," Jack murmured gently at long last, having eyes only for Lena.

"Oh, ummm, uhh, Lena, a-a-are you?" Kara muttered, suddenly feeling very inferior and embarrassed, she looked to Lena for help, but Lena was just as fixated on Jack as he was on her. In the same subdued tone, Lena agreed with Jack and gently told Kara that her help was no longer needed. It was then that Kara took the walk of shame home and away from the couple.

"Well, we are out," Mon-El said at last, trying to come to Kara's rescue. She shot him an unreadable look, but said nothing. "Cause nothing gets in the way of romance!" he stood to go and Kara winced again, but she obliged to stand as well. While Kara shot Lena one last pained look, Mon-El was busy pickpocketing Jack for his security badge during their farewell "man-nection" hug. That much made Kara smile and it was enough to make her see the night as not a total waste, but even as she exited the building, playfully nudging Mon-El, the Red stayed in her mind like a stain, or a brand, or a flame. Even after she'd returned to the darkness of the night, all she could see or think about or remember was Red...

Several months later, after Jack had died, a victim of his own creation, and after Mon-El had been forced to flee Planet Earth, Kara and Lena found themselves alone again. Both of them felt very cold and bitter, lonely without the men whom they had genuinely loved, but even through all of that blueness, Kara could still see tinges of Red. After that one simple, little look at Lena in her little red dress on that one random summer night, Kara had never ever been able to forget it. No matter what Lena wore after that day, Kara could still only ever see that red dress and it stayed forever in her mind, during and after Mon-El. But at long last, sweet release came, and there finally was another time in which Kara got to see that haunting, enchanting red dress again. Even better, though, this time, Lena was wearing it for her.

"Kara! So glad you could make it!" Lena greeted Kara with a warm laugh and an even warmer hug and kiss.

"Of course! I wouldn't miss date night for anything!" Kara replied, her own face burning a bright red as she studied Lena in her little red dress again. "You look gorgeous, by the way!" she murmured, reaching out and even daring to finally touch that smooth material of the dress.

"Thank you," Lena smiled shyly, starting to blush as well as Kara held the material of the dress between her fingers, stroking it gently. Lena could feel one of Kara's fingers touching her bare skin and it sent electric chills radiating out from the points where Kara was touching her. Lena, in that moment, even _felt _Red. Red faces, Red dress, Red heart, Red blood. Smiling faces, gorgeous dress, pounding heart, warm blood. So much Red. Kara could see it and Lena could feel it, both of them connected by the warm, passionate and loving Red...

"Well, this is lovely," Lena said at last, smiling at Kara over the top of her menu.

"Better than the last time we came?" Kara gave her a small and rueful laugh. Whether it was a sense of irony or a desire for at least one proper date at this establishment, Lena had chosen to bring Kara back to the place where she and Jack had first dined, and where Kara and Mon-El had first dined. This time, though, the awkwardness was gone. Only warmth and understanding remained, two hearts and minds, so perfectly in synch. Kara felt her face turning red again. Red. Like Lena's dress. Like the same dress from that night all those months ago. Only this time, that dress was the only thing that had carried over. For better or for worse. No more Jack. No more Mon-El. No more "investigative journalism". Just Lena and Kara and the Red, the Red of their cheeks and of Lena's captivating, hypnotic dress. Red wine, Red roses, Red smiles. It was a very beautiful and peaceful evening, full of laughter and smiles, which had also been absent upon Kara's first attendance to this diner. But now? Many months later?

"This date night is far better than the first," Lena agreed, laughing again.

"Isn't it?" Kara playfully raised a crystal glass full of red liquid. Lena mirrored her. Their glass clinked together, creating a perfect little chime. The soft lights, the gentle hum, the hustle and bustle, the romantic aura, the positive vibes. It was all so warm and welcoming and Kara knew that she was exactly where she belonged. The only other place that could ever even hope to compare came after dinner, in between the sheets, with Lena still at her side. This time, though, there was no more Red. The Red had been discarded very soon after the two lovers entered the bedroom.

Red lips, locking and unlocking endlessly. Breathless and breathy all at once, the two laughed and smiled and complimented and crooned. Back and forth they went in a little dance, kissing and touching and nuzzling. First, it was Kara's dress, whose color she did not even recall just because it was not the Red. Then it was Lena's, that blinding scarlet fabric, removed off of her body inch by inch thanks to Kara's teasing fingers. Zipper undone, straps removed, dress pulled down, skirt taken off. Then the entire dress was discarded, casually tossed to the ground and kicked aside as Kara found a new Red burning inside of Lena. In her mind, it was an even better shade than the dress. Red mouth, Red lips, all through the rest of the night, Kara could only see, smell, taste, touch, hear or feel Red.

Then the very next morning, when the sun shone through the window on tangled blankets and tangled bodies, Kara woke up first. Lena was still out cold, but Kara was certain she could see the heated red of Lena's cheeks even though that had been hours ago. Kara kissed her gently, right on that redness of her cheek, then she got up, stretching contentedly. Once she finally set foot out of bed, she noticed the red dress from the night before, still tossed carelessly to the floor, and cast aside. Kara smiled when she looked at it and she felt some of that red from the night, some of the red from the dress, seep back into her own face as she continued to look at it, thanking it for all it had given to her, especially the wonderful night with the woman that she loved. And as she thought this last phrase, her face got even redder still, just like the dress lying on the floor...

ooo

But then there finally came a time when Red no longer symbolized good things, and instead, there came a time when Red meant bad things, anger and fear and hatred. It was no longer captivating, but burning and painful, a scorching reminder of all that Kara had and had not done.

"You never told me! Why didn't you tell me?!" Lena was furious, demanding. Her face and eyes were red again, but not in the shade Kara wanted them to be. There was nothing but anger and pain now. The truth was out, and Lena was on the warpath, bright red, blood red, fiery red.

"You told everyone else _except_ me! Why? Have we not been friends, been _lovers_, for the past how many years now? Why should newer friends of yours like Brainy and Nia be allowed to know, but not me? Not me? One of your closest companions! Have I not proven myself to you time and time again? Or are you still distrustful of me? Even after everything we've been through! I worked so hard wanting you to trust me, and feel safe around me, that I never once thought that maybe I couldn't trust you!"

So much red, angry red, bright and powerful red, bloody and blinding. Kara could only cower and tremble before her wrath. She wanted to speak, she really did, but suddenly, every little last excuse seemed pathetic. Even the truth sounded weak. How could she say it? How could she tell Lena that she kept the secret because she was scared Lena would hate her if she ever found out? Lena's reaction now was proving that very point, but how could Kara say it without making Lena even madder? Or without having Lena demand to know why Kara would've ever thought such a thing instead of trying to find out herself? Life had handed them plenty of chances for Kara to come clean, but she turned every last one of them down. This was where all that hesitation had gotten them now. How could Kara admit to this without making Lena feel even more betrayed or annoyed? One of Kara's greatest fears was that Lena would stop loving her, or would start seeing her as something _Less_. It was why she had kept her secret for so long. But life was cruel, and now Kara's worst fears were coming to fruition right before her very eyes.

"Have I not done enough?! Do I not deserve your trust?! Have I somehow not earned it yet!? Or are you really one of those people who still believes that there's no such thing as a good Luthor!?" the words echoed back across time, to one of the very first times _Supergirl_ and Lena ever spoke, when Lena had invited her to a party. The same party Kara Danvers was supposed to attend. Neither of them missed this fact and it stung Kara. A bright Red pain shot through her body.

Lena continued to hiss and spit, but all Kara could do was stand there and cower, frozen in fear. The mighty Girl of Steel was rendered powerless and immobile, not by Kryptonite, but by something just as devastating: fear and love. Unable to think or speak, she could only stand there under Lena as Lena fired off bullet after bullet, demanding to know why she had been the only one left out of the loop for so long, and why she had never gained anyone's trust enough to deserve to know the secret, despite all she had done for all of them so many times before.

Lena was turning cold and hard, closing up again, and slowly disowning the Superfriends one by one. Even if it had been Kara's secret, they were all guilty in Lena's eyes, all guilty of keeping her in the dark. They were in on the joke while she was left on the outside looking in, just like always. Even if it had been Kara's secret, _everyone _had been bent upon keeping it from Lena. They were all guilty. They were all traitors and liars and deceivers and none of them had ever been her friend. She had always only ever been alone.

"If you have nothing to say to me now, then I don't believe that we have anything more to say to each other ever again," Lena's voice was cold and hard, but there was one single tremble in it. It was the perfect time for Kara to speak, but all she wanted to do was cry. She opened her mouth, but just like always, nothing came out.

Lena's eyes widened, then they narrowed again. She took Kara's silence and answered in kind, brushing past the girl without another sound, never looking back even once. But even though Lena did not look back, suddenly turning cold and silent again, Kara did. She turned around and watched Lena go, taking all of the Red with her. All of the anger and joy and passion followed Lena out the door that day and with all that Red gone, the only thing Kara could see was blue, just like when she had lost Mon-El.

In the days to come, Lena made good on her vow to disown Kara, never speaking to her or even acknowledging her, no matter what the situation demanded. The blue slowly faded into dark gray as Kara suddenly realized she was going to have to get used to a life without Lena. A life without her lover. A life without someone whom she'd been able to go to whenever she needed a companion for all of these years before. Suddenly, that giant chunk of her life had been ripped way in the blink of an eye. Now it was all gone, and she had to suffer the literal fallout.

It was like the ground had been ripped out from underneath her before she had the chance to catch herself and start flying. Now all she could do was fly through the freefall and fall away from the Red and through the blue and into the endless dark gray, all alone. But try as Kara did, she could never forget Lena. Everything reminded the Kryptonian of her Luthor. Seeing L-Corp or Lena was like torture and everything else in the city managed to drag up some painful memory or another. Flashbacks and echoes surrounded Kara everywhere even when it came time to let go, but moving on from Lena was impossible because Kara could still see her so clearly in all of her memories.

There was no more Red in Kara's life, except in those flashbacks and echoes, when it would come back with hideous clarity as though trying to make up for the fact that it was now absent in her present life, just like Lena was. The reds in her life were muted until the memories started, then they were brilliant and blinding and burning, burning, burning Red. And they all spun around her head in a rainbow-torrent of colors, the Red burning the brightest of all, Lena standing in the very heart of it, still in that cursed red dress from years ago. That was the cruelest memory of all, the red dress. It was also the most persistent, and it never ever left Kara's mind. Even when everything else would go away and fade into that depressing dark gray, the burning Red of that little dress remained forever in Kara's mind, like a stain, or a brand, or a flame.

It was like Kara's love for Lena, which was still very real and strong. Even if Lena's love for Kara had turned cold and faded, Kara's love for Lena still burned so bright and it was impossible for her to let go of it because her love for Lena was just that strong. And it was all because of that stupid Red dress, and all of the Red memories. Red days and Red nights, Red smiles and Red kisses. Red memories that stained Kara's present and past, taunting her all the way into her lonely future. She could not stop loving Lena because she could not regret Lena because those memories had been all too real, and Kara couldn't just discard them. Even if Lena thought those memories were false, Kara knew they were true. Perhaps they were laced with lies, but they were still real. All those good times burned so bright and Kara could not forget a single one. They were too red for her to forget because loving _her_ was Red. Loving Lena Luthor was Red. And all Kara could see, or think about or remember, was the Red.

**AN: So here we go, the SuperCorp day: Red! It's actually very fitting tbh (and yes, I did reference the Taylor Swift song during the angsty portion of this fic, because it's very fitting. 4x22 still has me dead and it's been a couple weeks now. I'm pathetic. LOL.)**

**Also, sorry if this seems too flowery or prose-y, but that's how it turned out. Hope you still all enjoyed it! **


	19. Danny, Lafontaine, Perry: Orange

Three orange heads sat around in the large and fancy bedroom at the end of the hall. Lafontaine was hunched over their desk, busily scribbling away on charts, diagrams, blueprints and an assortment of other techie, nerdy graphs. Perry was fretfully scrubbing every inch of the room, even though it was already pristine, spotless and sterilized. And Danny was reclining on the large master bed with a tired and unhappy expression as she tossed pencils at the little dart board she'd hung up, opposite to the bed.

"You know, I really wish you wouldn't do that, you know?" Perry muttered as she continued to obsessively scrub the room, sounding so tense that she didn't even seem aware of the redundancy in her statement. She shot a pointed look at the bored and unhappy Danny, who was still busily tossing pencil darts at the target on the wall.

"Oh, who cares? I know you'll fix it eventually anyway," Danny sighed back. It was an unusually callous remark from a girl who was one of the most selfless, protective and caring students on campus, but even the best of people suffered the worst of days. This was just one of Danny's. She continued to toss pencils at the wall, ignoring the frustrated and irritated look Perry was giving her.

Perry opened her mouth to complain again, but before she had the chance to say anything, Lafontaine cut her off.

"Ok guys, come on, let's not fight anymore. We've already got too much else to worry about. The last thing we need is for another battle to break out between the lot of us," they said tiredly and although Perry looked quite annoyed at being interrupted by them, she couldn't deny that they had a point. With Silas in an uprising (various factions and clubs duking it out for control over the campus), Matska Belmonde and Cornelius Vordenberg in a battle for the title of head of the schoolboard, the Lophii still only half dead, the evil headmistress still on the loose, and more and more students showing up dead all across campus, it wasn't hard to see why everyone was so on edge.

And in the case of Perry, Lafontaine and Danny, there were even tighter restrictions. Since Perry and Lafontaine had fled the school earlier that year (with their two friends Carmilla and Laura leading them away), all four of them were considered enemies of the school and had since been forced to hole up in the dean's old home without the freedom to move around campus. Danny was still able to walk around the school, unhindered, but as a member of the Summer Society, she was one of the "generals" in the civil war that Silas was going through. And she was presently in hot water with the president of the club, Melanippe Callis. So not only was she having to fight on behalf of the Summers for the sake of Silas as a whole, but on behalf of herself as well, standing against her rival in Mel. And to some extent, she was fighting a third war against herself, on behalf of Laura, Carmilla, Lafontaine and Perry.

Even though the problems Laura, Carmilla, Lafontaine and Perry were facing did not directly involve Danny, she had since shoved her way back into their lives and was doing double duty, serving them and the Summers. Part of this decision came from her own innate desire to be a hero, but another part came from the fact that she was still very much in love with Laura, even though Laura was currently dating Carmilla. Carmilla and Laura weren't exactly in the best of places right now, but that still didn't do much to make lovelorn Danny feel any better. Even if Laura and Carmilla did break up, which would be a dream come true for Danny, Laura still wouldn't be in any emotional state to reciprocate her feelings and Danny was getting tired of waiting, but she could not control her feelings, and whether she wanted to or not, she was still madly in love with the adorkable little blond journalist. But that journalist had no feelings for her. Danny had once said, "Oh well, I guess I'm just not _that_ girl!" but even though she knew this all too well, she was still head over heels for Laura Hollis. It sucked.

So with Lafontaine struggling to keep everyone together while also trying to find a solution to the problems currently plaguing Silas, and with Perry struggling to keep her own calm as she battled strange and random blackouts that she could not explain or understand, and Danny fighting three wars (one against the other factions on Silas campus including the schoolboard itself in the forms of Vordenberg and Mattie, one against Mel, and one against herself/Laura) it wasn't hard to see why all three of them were so stressed out, angry, frustrated and miserable.

"Would you look at us?" Danny asked at last, voice sounding very broken and hollow, like she was finally forgetting how to feel just because the last few weeks had been so emotionally draining. "Three gay gingers, all of us absolutely miserable. I'm starting to grow sick of the color orange," she hurled one pencil with particular ferocity and it sailed through the target and struck the wall on the other side. Perry pursed her lips, but said nothing. Instead, she only continued to scrub the already-spotless floor.

"Even my pencil darts are orange," Danny complained, starting to sound a bit unhinged. "Even the walls are starting to look orange!" she added as she sat up, angrily gesturing at the walls around them. They were actually a deep red with gold patterns, but in certain lights, Lafontaine and Perry could see where Danny was coming from.

"I thought orange was supposed to be a happy color," Lafontaine agreed with a dry smile, joining in on Danny's weird little rant about the overwhelming amount of orange in the dean's house.

"Maybe for you all, but I'm sick of it!" Danny grunted, finally hopping up from the bed at last. Everywhere she looked there was orange: her hair, Perry and Lafontaine's hair, the walls of the dean's house, the Summer Society (technically, it was bronze or gold, but when stained with blood, it did look a bit orange). Everything was orange. Too much orange! And how many fires had started during the battles going on between Silas groups? Too many. Not only was half the campus literally in ruins, but the fires that seemed to burn the sky constantly were always a bright orange. Danny was sick of looking at it! Impatient, she finally exited the room, leaving Perry and Lafontaine behind.

Lafontaine was quick to dip their orange-haired head back down and continue pouring over some ancient text, writing down notes with an orange pencil. Perry, meanwhile, hopped up from the floor, orange hair shimmering in the light as she went to yank all of the orange pencils out of the orange wall of the dean's room.

"No good, Summers!" she muttered under her breath.

Danny strode down the hall, reaching the end in only three strides because of how long her legs were. Carmilla and Laura were arguing in the foyer again, but it brought Danny no pleasure to see. Instead, it only made her feel ill. She just wanted this constant and endless cycle of pain and war to end! She strode outside of the dean's house, trying desperately to control her breathing. At least she still had the freedom to escape, the other two Gay Gingers (plus Carmilla and Laura) had to remain barricaded inside.

But the outside brought no respite for Danny today, because she had chosen to leave the house at a bad time: sunset. And so, the first thing that met Danny's eyes after she had slammed the dean's door shut again was a sky full of orange, bright and endless and cruel. In the distance, battle cries were being shouted, and more orange spirted across campus: flames and arrows and weapons and armor, all a shade of orange, gleaming under the mercilessly orange sunset... That one giant orange eye in the sky, its fearsome glare burning everything in its path, including Danny...

**AN: Sorry for the angst. It's set in S2 of the Carmilla webseries. That was probably the most emotionally draining thing in the entire Carmilla franchise, S2 of the webseries. But anyway, despite the angst, I hope you enjoyed it!**


	20. Carmilla X Laura: Yellow

Carmilla had always held a preference for the darker colors of the world: blacks, grays, indigos, deep purples and deep reds. She liked the mystery, intrigue and other-ness that accompanied traditionally sinister colors. They filled her with a sense of power, as if their mystery bled into her. But every once in a while, a brighter and more cheery color managed to catch her dark, shadowy eyes. One such color was a rather sickeningly bright yellow. The first time Carmilla was aware of it was in the golden hair of her much-loathed roommate.

"Who the hell are you?" the roommate had demanded the first time Carmilla ever laid eyes on her.

"Carmilla, I'm your new roommate, sweetheart," she had replied smugly before happily making herself at home in that little dorm room, 307. The girl's name was Laura Hollis, but for a time, Carmilla only ever referred to her with nicknames. Aside from "sweetheart", some of the most popular included food items like cupcakes and creampuffs, but the one that Carmilla felt was the most apt was "sunshine" or "Sundance". She only ever used those nicknames occasionally, but they certainly seemed to fit Laura. Outside of the bright yellow in her hair, there were other examples of yellow in Laura's possession. There were several yellow articles of clothing that she owned, all of which Carmilla found repulsive and ghastly, yet she never could bring herself to consider them ugly, so long as they were on Laura's petite figure. And then there was her big, bright yellow pillow.

That yellow pillow was very unfitting with the rest of the room. Even though the entire dorm was rife with bright colors (they were disgusting in Carmilla's eyes) the brightest was easily the yellow pillow, and Carmilla had known immediately that the yellow pillow was Laura's (as in, it was a personal belonging, and not something the university had supplied her with). It was just too bright and cheery, even for a student dorm room! And for another, Laura was constantly hugging it and sleeping on it, like a child and a security blanket. Only someone with a fond history with an object would cuddle that object the way Laura cuddled her pillow, so clearly, this was not something she'd picked up from the Silas bookstore (and if she had, it would've had the Silas logo on it somewhere). Carmilla couldn't deny intrigue with why Laura seemed so very fond of her big yellow pillow, but stubborn pride refused to ever let Carmilla ask. Did she dare risk showing her _feelings _by asking a question that would reveal that she was paying more attention to the annoying little Sundance than she let on? Heck no.

So Carmilla could only continue to watch her very out-of-place roommate snuggling that very out-of-place pillow, the irony of how well-matched they were not being missed by the vampire at all, and wonder what the story was behind it. Laura was very fond of it, so it was likely a gift from someone she loved. And Carmilla could tell by the look of it that it was relatively old. Though she'd never admit it, there were days when Laura would be off at class and Carmilla would take that time to root carefully through every little last one of Laura's belongings, out of genuine interesting for the bright yellow girl, but only the pillow received repeated scrutiny from the black-clad, black-haired vampire. The pillow smelled like Laura, it was frayed a little at the corners, it seemed to have a permanent dent the size of Laura's head in it, and it had several faded stains and crumbs that indicated how often Laura would dine with/on her pillow.

It was amazing all the little details about her little yellow roommate that Carmilla could cull from that giant yellow pillow. And the more she thought about it, the more fitting it seemed for her. Aside from the yellow pillow and yellow clothes and yellow hair, even Laura's personality and very soul seemed yellow, bright yellow, blinding and sunny and youthful and energetic. Laura was an idiot, to put it simply, but she was a very brave and determined idiot. She was so desperate to be a hero and make something of herself that she was constantly throwing herself into danger all for the sake of creating her own little "Harry Potter experience". Laura was a lively soul, bright and peppy and ever-hopeful. She was very yellow, her smile and her eyes, they both always shined with yellow. Carmilla didn't even realize it, but she soon found herself saturated with and intoxicated by the color, by yellow, by the very last thing she ever thought she would fall victim to...

But yellow often also symbolized life and sunlight, two things that were rather... distasteful to a vampire. Even if _real_ vampires didn't sparkle in the sunlight, real vampires did suffer varying degrees of discomfort when in sunlight, so Carmilla tried to convince herself that tangling with Laura would lead to no good.

"There is a reason vampires do not like the color yellow," she had told herself firmly one day, but she was sitting on Laura's bed with that infuriating and intoxicating yellow pillow in her lap. "Vampires do not like yellow because it is too bright and demanding, it is blinding and scorching. No sensible creature of the night likes anything yellow. It is an overwhelming and garish color, fitting for an overwhelming and garish little ingenue..." Carmilla shook her head in disgust, trying to disparage Laura as much as possible, but she still remained firmly seated upon Laura's bed (still caressing the pillow absentmindedly) until she heard Laura's footsteps echoing down the hall. Then Carmilla was swift to leap back into her own bed, opening her book at the same time Laura opened the door, keeping up the charade of disinterest with the little yellow girl.

"Well, creampuff, you've seen better days," Carmilla drawled, voice low and soft as the little blond let her backpack drop to the floor. There were bits and pieces of food and garbage in her hair and on her clothing.

"My attempt at a rally for the missing students could've gone better," came the tired and bitter reply. Laura sank onto her bed with a groan.

"I told you they weren't worth the effort," Carmilla snickered.

"Of course they were!" Laura, despite her discouragement, was quick to defend the missing girls, sitting right back up to glare at Carmilla with flashing eyes. Carmilla secretly reveled in that passion, having known exactly what set it off. She personally didn't give a crap about the missing students, but she would still sometimes make snide remarks against them just because she knew it got her little creampuff going (wait, _her _little creampuff?). It worked like a charm and Laura was off at once, talking about how no one deserved to go missing in darkness, left to rot, forgotten.

As the little yellow girl continued to rant about the missing students, yellow seeming to radiate off of every word she so passionately spoke, Carmilla found herself growing unintentionally entranced. The girls, Laura thought, deserved to be found and brought home. They did not deserve to lie forgotten, even if they were already dead. They deserved to see the light again, the bright yellow, and to not be left lost in the dark depths below. It was a very disgusting and sappy sentiment, but Carmilla found herself attracted to it, and its speaker...

"Hell, even _you_ deserve better..." came the sharp remark, but for once, it did not make Carmilla smirk that Laura looked so irked. Instead, it only made her pause... and wonder... and feel a bit... discontent. She knew Laura's remark was supposed to be an insult, but it didn't feel like one.

Instead, even after Laura had gone to bed, Carmilla could only lie awake, as though the sun itself were glaring down at her to prevent her from sleeping. She rolled over on her side and peered through the darkness. Even if Laura's outline was lost to shadow, she could still see that stupid, cursed yellow pillow, blinding and burning her through the darkness. Just for a moment, then, Carmilla felt something inside her begin to stir and twitch, that familiar discontent from earlier. That hurt and anger at a world so cruel that so many people could go missing without anyone to try and find them and bring them home. That disbelief and self-loathing that Laura truly believed that even someone like Carmilla deserved a happy ending. That desire and drive to be the light in a very dark world so that she, like and with Laura, could help find the missing sheep of the flock and see them safely home once again. No one deserved to be forgotten or left behind or left for dead, even someone as dark and gray as Carmilla. That was a lesson Laura had taught her, and now, some of that yellow was staining onto her. For once, though, Carmilla didn't hate it, and her very last sight before falling asleep was of that old yellow pillow, and the yellow girl sleeping upon it.

**AN: Based on S1 of the webseries when Carmilla first starts falling for her little Sundance. **


	21. Storm X Iris: Green

Even though their "signature colors" were blue and purple respectively, Storm and Iris felt as if they most often saw one another in green.

"You can't catch me!" Iris singsonged as she weaved expertly through the branches of the trees of Camp Heath's training forest. As the sunlight streamed in through the leaves, the entire training forest seemed to be bathed in a gentle green glow, and Iris was no exception. Nor was Storm.

"Are you really going to say that to me?" the taller, older woman challenged in amusement before she swiftly went sprinting after Iris. Even though she was larger, and therefore heavier, than Iris, she was still very nimble and agile.

"Oh, crap!" Iris was quick to pick up her own pace, running as fast as she dared across the branches as Storm began to gain on her.

"Run, run, run, tiny mouse! The cat is about to catch you!" Storm laughed as she continued to close in on Iris.

"No fair!" the tiny girl panted. "Your legs are way long!"

"No, you're just slow!" Storm teased back, not even breaking a sweat as she continued to sprint through the leaves with ease, never missing a step and never breaking a single sweat.

"Maybe I shouldn't have been stupid enough to challenge you, of all soldiers, to a competition like this!" Iris grunted, but Storm heard her.

"Ya think?" she snickered, then she simply reached out and tapped Iris' shoulder. "Got ya!"

Later that day, the two were sent out on patrol.

"I can't even see!" the smaller soldier griped as they trekked through very tall (and very green) grass. Storm laughed loudly as she realized that Iris was right. Storm could see over the grass just fine, but Iris had to stand on her tiptoes just to catch a glimpse of the surrounding area.

"Maybe next time, Captain will send a taller soldier with me!" Storm teased as Iris continued to crash and stumble through the foliage.

"Grrrr," came the reply as, once again, Iris seemed to sink straight into the ground. Only green could be seen from Storm's viewpoint.

Then the green got greener as a small platoon of Bellifers became distant on the horizon.

"Iris! Back up!" Storm hissed. The aliens were still very far away, but Storm didn't want Iris accidentally rushing right into them.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" Iris hissed back, but when she looked up again to see Storm unsheathing her sword, the answer became all too clear to her and she was quick to do likewise. After that, Iris and Storm became much quieter as they prepared to ambush their invading enemies...

That was when the green got greener still. The little group of invaders consisted of six smaller Bellifers, but neither Storm nor Iris was foolish enough to think that the battle would be easy. Size did not seem to matter to the Bellifers because even the tiniest among them could pack a punch, as these six were able to prove. Storm and Iris were more than able to handle themselves, but that was only because they had the good sense not to get overconfident during the fight.

These six Bellifers looked sort of like mutant rats. They were each about the size of a small dog and infinitely more ferocious and angry, but what really made them stand out was their trademark red eyes and green bodies. All Bellifers looked this way. No matter what Denbarian animal or creature they tried to mimic, they always came out an ugly bright green with glowing red eyes. These six were no exception, but that did make the battle a bit harder, as it was occurring in the middle of a dense thicket of foliage.

"Sweet, merciful Denbar!" Iris griped as she swung her sword wildly through the grass and leaves and plants. Her blade finally connected with something and, thankfully, it was one of the Bellifer Rats. It uttered a grating and horrific shriek of pain but Iris showed it no mercy, striking it again and again and again until it was finally dead, cut cleanly in two. One could never be too careful when killing a Bellifer. And a few feet away, Storm was in the same boat, snarling almost as savagely as the Bellifer rats as she swung her sword with almost reckless abandon, powerful and terrifying as she scourged her enemies to the bone and beyond.

By the end of things, their entire world seemed green. They were stained with grass and Bellifer blood and remains.

"You look like something out of a cheesy old monster flick," Iris snickered as she caught sight of Storm, panting hard as her eyes darted around wildly in case there were other Bellifers nearby. She was coated in a layer of green goo, Bellifer blood.

"Shut up," came her irritated and embarrassed reply as she finally looked down at herself to realize that Iris wasn't wrong. She was quick to wipe her sticky blade off on some of the larger leaves in their surroundings, trying to scrape most of the Bellifer blood off before it dried and hardened.

"Gross," Iris laughed as the blood came off in gooey strings, though she was doing the same thing with her own blade a few feet away.

But even though their swords were easily cleaned, they, themselves, could not say the same.

"This is disgusting!" Storm hissed as she and Iris walked back into camp, still coated in green goo. Some of their friends saw them and laughed, playfully teasing them about "looking a little bit green" and other lame, uninspired puns about being green.

"I'm going to need at least 50 showers," Iris agreed, looking just as grossed out as the Bellifer blood started to dry on her clothing and skin. Bellifer blood was actually pretty easy to wash off, regaining its gooiness as soon as it got wet, though it was still never a pleasant experience to wash off...

The next day, Storm and Iris were out in the fields again, literally, once again bathed in green. This time, though, it was only the natural green of the forest surrounding them. This patrol passed easily, no danger this time, and when they returned, they were untouched and untarnished.

"Mostly," Iris was the one to correct Storm's assessment of themselves as they returned to their shared cabin on the far side of Camp Heath. "Some of the goo from yesterday didn't quite wash out!" she was looking down at her side which, as she had said, still had a large green stain on it.

"Oh, boo hoo," Storm nudged her playfully as she set her sword down.

"But I liked this shirt!" Iris whined, looking at the large green stain ruefully in the mirror of the little cabin.

"It still works, doesn't it?" Storm reminded the tiny brunette with a scoff.

"But it looks stupid and ugly!" Iris frowned, but she actually did not mean this. Iris _was_ a bit upset that her new shirt had suffered such a beating so quickly, but she actually thought the stain looked cool. She was only pretending to complain so that she could make this joke:

"I don't think I want to wear this anymore!" then without hesitation, she took the shirt off.

"Oh, you sly dog," Storm grunted as she finally realized what Iris was really doing, but it was too late to stop her now...

"And I think these pants have a stain too," the little brunette smirked playfully up at the taller, older woman. Then, as Iris discarded the last of her green, Storm suddenly began to look very, very red.

**AN: I know I said I'd only give one day per ship, but that excludes my ships from my original work because I get to call the shots on that. **


	22. Nathan X Mag X Marni: Turquoise

In a world as decayed as theirs, it was a rare day for Nathan, Mag or Marni to see any real blue sky. Instead, it was usually only an endless dark gray smog. The world was literally full of death, corpses lining the streets and flooding out of mass graves and the back of old dump trucks. This mass amount of death, mixed with the hyper-industrialization of the rest of the world meant that the planet itself was slowly dying, joining the ranks of all of the creatures that lived upon it. Everything on the entire planet seemed to be some sort of shade of gray, ranging black to silver. Black corpses, gray headstones, gray factory and machinery, silver buildings, silver lining and lighting, black sky with gray clouds, always. The sun barely even shined anymore. It was almost perpetually night, only the moon ever visible through the thick smog. But even so, every once in a while, a little bit of turquoise managed to peek through the heavens.

"It's like a bit of paradise, come down to Earth," Marni sighed as she and her two spouses sat outside their home, just admiring the small patch of turquoise that had somehow managed to make its way through the smog and down to them.

"I've never seen anything like it!" Mag agreed, robotic eyes clicking and whirring as she took pictures and videos of that patch of bright blue sky. It was something she wanted to remember forever, and with GeneCo's Cornea +Plus eyes, she could.

"And here I thought it only existed in books and movies," Nathan marveled along with his wives. He had, of course, seen photos of the old Earth, before the organ pandemic of 2000 began, and those photos always showed the planet teeming with life and light and color. But those images had only been photos, and never anything he'd ever seen in real life.

In those old photos from old books and movies was a world polar opposite to the one in which they all lived in today, and it was a world none of them had ever personally been around to see. All they had ever known was the dark gray graveyard. So to see that patch of turquoise, peering down at them, was like looking into the past, just as much as it was like looking into paradise.

"And how fitting it is, too!" Marni realized suddenly. "It's our third anniversary!" and she was right. The three of them had all gotten married about three Junes ago. That June had not blessed them with a clear sky, no turquoise to be seen anywhere, but the wedding had been fantastic and marvelous nonetheless. Mag had no family or friends to bring, but Marni and Nathan's relatives (or at least the ones that had not somehow succumbed to the mass organ failure) managed to put on a good show. Nathan's parents and a couple brothers and old school friends came while Marni's parents and aunts and uncles filled the other half of the guest list. That day had been marvelous and the happy trio was certain that there had never been a more spectacular event in all of the world!

Three years later, all three of them were still living a happy life under one roof and one marriage. From what they understood, in the past, polyamory had been frowned up, seen as weird and indecent, belonging only to a certain sector of the population that was a bit weirder than all the rest. Times had changed drastically following the organ failure. No one had time to be nitpicky anymore. Now, polyamory (as well as other forms of love and romantic and sexual relations) was incredibly common. It was not a rare sight to see multiple husbands, wives, spouses and partners all living under one marriage license. Of course, there were plenty of monogamous couples left as well, but polyamory was rising in popularity, so to speak. And in the minds of the three Wallaces, this was a relief.

"I know that being born after the mass organ failure began sucks, but there are times when I'm glad it happened," Marni confessed. "After all, without the organ failure, our marriage may not have ever been seen as ok, or normal. It sounds like times were a lot tougher back then in regard to sexual fluidity, liberation and exploration."

"And not only that, but none of us may have ever met," Nathan agreed. He was a surgeon for GeneCo and he had met Mag and Marni when he operated on Mag's eyes, removing her old blind ones and giving her the Cornea +Plus pair. And Mag and Marni had only ever met because they both went to the same rundown old school because it was the only one still standing in their area. Had the organ failure never occurred, Nathan may have never become a doctor, and Mag and Marni may not have been forced to go to the same school! That wasn't to say any of them appreciated living in a dying world, but they were able to appreciate the bits of life between the shadows and darkness.

"Just like the turquoise sky," Mag turned her robotic eyes back up to the heavens. There was another thing the trio might've missed, had they been born in a different time. Perhaps, in the past, they would've had more of it, they would've had more blue sky and clean air, but then the grandeur and splendor of it would've been lost upon them.

"Had we been born any earlier, we would've taken the turquoise for granted, so I am glad that we were born when we were, right at the perfect time to still get to see glimpses of it every now and then, but not too far back where we might've grown used to it," Mag continued and Marni and Nathan smiled in agreement with her wise words before they, like her, turned their faces back up to the patch of turquoise.

Already it was starting to fade away out of view, covered by dark smog once again, but the three remained hopeful and optimistic. As long as they had each other, and the hope of seeing that sky one day again in the future, they would be just fine. Turquoise rapidly became their favorite color and was, for them, synonymous with hope, promise and return. They would see that heavenly sky once again some day, they were sure of it! They only needed to wait, but if they had each other (and Mag's photos and recordings), no wait would ever be too long or painful. But past and future aside, the three were more than happy just to bask in the present, enjoying that perfect little moment to be alive. Just them and the slowly-fading turquoise. Old enough to see and enjoy it, but young enough to not take it for granted, and lucky enough to get to enjoy it _together_. Even after the turquoise had turned gray again, the images remained bright in all of their minds and they spent the rest of the day outside together, just relaxing with each other in the Heaven that was all around them.

**AN: Repo the Genetic Opera is the best movie ever and these three should've been poly, fight me on both of those statements and I WILL win. :P**


	23. Nia: Indigo

Nia Nal stared at her costume, running the material through her fingers and studying every little last stitch with a strange mix of interest and disinterest. Trying to memorize every little last color and contour of her new costume was a coping mechanism for her and in this time of fear, when tensions were high and trust was low, that sort of calming distraction was exactly the thing Nia needed. It was made of the same material Supergirl's costume was made of and it was just as durable, comfortable and fitting. The difference came in the physical appearance. Nia's costume was covered in various shades of blue with a silvery torso. It was stylish and definitely a good aesthetic for someone who called herself "Dreamer".

As Nia continued to study her costume, trying hard to get her mind off of all of the strife going on just outside her door, she found herself looking most intently at the indigo stripes on the side of the costume. Indigo. It was such a beautiful, powerful, mysterious color and it was rapidly becoming Nia's favorite. She liked how deep it could look, so haunting and enchanting. It was more than just a shade of blue, it was almost a color entirely its own. It was indigo. Not only did it fit with her physical aesthetic, but Nia felt as if it fit with her mental and emotional one as well.

But not only that, as perhaps silly as it sounded, Nia found the unintentional erasure of indigo in everyday-speak to be quite apt as well. Although indigo was its own official color, when most people saw it, they would merely consider it blue, or maybe dark blue, if they were offering up some sort of slight distinction. But seldom did anyone ever call it indigo. For that, in Nia's mind, indigo almost seemed like the "forgotten" color, or the "invisible" one, the color that walked between the lines of blue and purple, standing right in that limbo between the two bigger and more well-known worlds. How apt that felt for someone like her. As an alien-human hybrid and a transgender woman, Nia was all too acquainted with what it felt like to be forgotten, misjudged or mislabeled, and she knew all too well about how it felt to be on the outside looking in, somewhat ostracized in the eyes of the rest of the world just because she was so different from the rest of them.

Just like the color indigo, Nia was very much standing in the middle of the road. She looked too human to really be pegged as an alien, but at the same time, she had powers and abilities far beyond that of a normal human. And even though she was a woman, well and truly, just because she was transgender, there were still moments when she felt in between the lines, and sometimes, the way the rest of the world treated her only made that feeling of isolation and uncertainty even worse. Not too long ago, Nia had paid a visit to her sister and although it had gone alright for a little while, when that sister's jealousy about not becoming the next Dreamer finally surfaced, she insisted that Nia didn't deserve the power because, although she was a woman now, she had still been born a boy, and was, in that sense, not a _full _woman, and never would be. Instead, she would always only just be a _trans_woman, which in this case, became code for "woman born as a man" or "woman outside, man inside".

The words had cut Nia deep and left her in tears. Even though a part of her knew that her sister had only said this in a moment of anger, that didn't make it any easier to hear. Her own sister, whom she really did love dearly, had just looked her in the eyes and essentially told her that no matter what she did and no matter how hard she tried, she would always be at least a little bit of a man just because she had been born male. Just like the color indigo, stuck in between blue and purple, Nia was being told that she would never quite be a real woman and would always have one foot stuck in the door, forever to be on the outside looking in.

Now, Nia felt no shame about her identity as a transgender woman and was more than happy to stand up for herself and for others like her, but in the little moments like that, the reminder that she was not normal and would never truly be like all of the other girls sat in her brain like a firebrand, scalding her and taunting her. But that was why she took so much comfort in her role as Dreamer. Her costume was so beautiful, made to fit a woman's body. And it the powers of the Dreamer had been passed down to her, so even if she had been born male, there was always something there even deeper than that which always knew she was destined to be a woman. Whatever caused the Dreamer power had already known, even before she was born, that she was meant to be a woman. Gaining that power, although it could be quite a burden sometimes, acted as one of the most validating things Nia had ever felt. Even beyond the surgery and support, knowing that the universe _itself_ had granted her with a talent exclusive to women made her feel like the truest, realest woman that had ever lived. The universe _itself_ was acknowledging who she truly was. If that didn't make her feel alive, nothing else ever would.

So for that reason, Nia also took great pride in her Dreamer side. Even though it stuck her in that uncomfortable middle between human and alien, it brought her so much more than just a few prophetic dreams. All of her identities, as Nia Nal, and the Dreamer, as a transwoman, as a human-alien hybrid, were all interconnected within her one entity and all of it was swaddled up in an indigo uniform. All of her identities had a splash of indigo in them somewhere and although that did make life a little lonely, to have them all linking together and confirming one another was the most beautiful feeling in the world, like everything was in perfect balance and harmony.

So as Nia sat there, alone in her room, caressing her costume, she continued to stare at the indigo patches and feel hopeful. She was not a freak or an outcast or a mistake, she was just different and misunderstood, but differences could become beautiful and misunderstanding could turn into enlightenment. As long as that hope remained for her, she would never doubt or fear who she was. Instead, she would carry on the hope that one day, all of these conflicting identities would finally be able to make peace and live in harmony. One day, humans would no longer fear aliens (and vice versa). One day, transgender people would no longer be told that a piece of their past would forever stain their present and future. One day, Dreamer would rise alongside other great heroes like Superman and Supergirl and she would then go down in history as a hero with courage to match the Kryptonians' and she would accomplish all that she had ever dreamt that she would. And then maybe one day, she and her sister would reconcile. They were all very big dreams, but Nia was not called Dreamer for nothing. If there was anyone who could get it done, it would be her!

Nia's dreams that night were, for once, empty and peaceful. The only thing that filled them was a tint of indigo, gentle and firm at the same time. It was staining the corners of her mind and flickering in and out of view before swirling around her and taking on her shape, fitting her perfectly, every piece of her identity interlocked in perfect harmony. For once, indigo did not mean middle-of-the-road outcast stuck between blue and violet. Instead, it meant balance, unity and harmony, a perfect blend sitting comfortably between two vastly different colors. It was a bridge instead of a wall. For once, indigo meant hope, and the young Dreamer was more than happy to spend a night floating around in an indigo bliss.

**AN: I really do love Nia's character, and her costume and powers are pretty cool too. Hope this wasn't too irritatingly poetic, but when you're writing about just a color, it does come off as a bit prosey at times, LOL. Anyway, hope you all enjoyed!**


	24. Sir Edward: Violet

"Sir Edward?" Emily looked up from her sketchbook suddenly.

"Yes, milady?" Sir Edward turned his furry little head up in the direction of his favorite Asylum inmate.

"I've been wondering..." the redheaded human looked unsure of how to pose her question.

"Well, that is a good thing," Sir Edward told her gently.

"I mean, you said you used to be one of Queen Victoria's pet rats, right?" Emily began.

"Yes," Sir Edward raised himself up on his hindlegs with a proud expression on his long, whiskery face.

"Well, what made you leave her?" and there it was, the question that had been plaguing (pun possibly intended) Emily for quite a while. From the day she first met the courtly Sir Edward and heard the story that he used to live in the glorious palace of Queen Victoria, she couldn't help but wonder what could've ever compelled him to leave such luxury and come live in the hellhole that was the Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls.

"Ah, well now, that is a very long story indeed!" Sir Edward's dark eyes glittered.

"Ah, forgive me," Emily lowered her head demurely. "I didn't mean to offend."

"Oh, no, my dear lady, I was going to tell you the story, I just meant that it would be very long, complicated, confusing, and maybe upsetting to you. But if you still wish to hear it..."

"Oh, yes, of course, Sir Edward!" Emily leaned forward towards the large rat, hazel eyes wide with interest. Although she couldn't help but wonder what Sir Edward meant when he said it would be confusing and upsetting to someone like her, she was still intrigued to know.

"Very well then," Sir Edward scuttled over to her and rested on her leg, little old black top had perched jauntily upon his head. No one knew where he'd gotten it, but it made him look quite dapper and handsome. "I think you might find some value in the story," he added mysteriously, but before Emily could ask what this meant, he began to speak.

Sir Edward didn't remember too much behind the story of his birth except that he had lived with a smallish colony not too far away from Queen Victoria's majestic castle. He had been a wee lad when he was caught by the Royal Rat Catcher, Jack Black. Jack took him in and presented him to Queen Victoria as a gift. She had been so intrigued and enamored with the large size and handsome figure of Sir Edward that she had adopted him at once and presented him with that name of Edward. Over several years, Edward continued to live in the lap of luxury, proving himself quite charming and intelligent. He spoke to Queen Victoria only on a few occasions, but even when he did not communicate with her verbally, his mannerisms and behaviors were all too easy to read. He really was very much a gentleman. He was very, very, smart and very, very expressive. He would bow to her whenever she entered his presence and kiss her hand every time she left it again and all during the course of their interactions, he would be a very polite and well-behaved rat, sitting up straight and tall, yet with humility and wisdom.

Eventually, he was even dubbed "Sir" Edward by the other pet rats of the castle just because he was so courtly, chivalrous and intelligent (and of course, he was the queen's personal pet, that made him all the more powerful when compared to the other castle rats). Edward took his new title with great honor and pride, doing his very best to live up to its standards. But after a few years, that was when things began to change. A new rat named Richard joined the castle and Edward began to fall in love with him. Perhaps it sounded preposterous, a homosexual rat, but it was one of the truest and deepest feelings Sir Edward had ever felt. Although there were plenty of female rats in the castle, Sir Edward had never fancied any of them before. The first and only rat he'd ever felt anything for was Richard.

Their friendship was slow and steady, covering a very natural progression. It was only one night when the two rats were exploring part of the castle gardens that Sir Edward finally realized that his feelings for his companion went beyond mere comradery and brotherhood.

"Richard, my beloved friend, I do wonder if you've ever desired having a mate," Sir Edward first chanced as they walked through a field of violets.

"Hmmm, I cannot say that the thought has ever crossed my mind," Richard replied sincerely, long tail brushing the violets as they walked on by.

"Richard, my dear, we live in a court of royals, surrounded by some of the most elite humans in the world. Scandal is rife within Queen Victoria's house. How have you never thought a thing of mates?" Edward's ears twitched almost shyly and he began to prod at the petals on a nearby violet.

"Well, Sir Edward, you are no more mated than I am. Has the thought never crossed your mind?" Richard reminded the larger rat with a cheeky, toothy little grin. It was then that Sir Edward slowly, confusedly, confessed his feelings for Richard. Even he had not been aware of them until recently, and it had been quite a random discovery. He still could not place when or where the feelings had started, nor what had prompted him to realize them, he could only tell Richard that he felt a deep fondness for him and wished that they could be mates, both in body and spirit.

The confession had startled Richard initially, but only because Sir Edward's words had acted as his own trigger for realizing that he felt the exact same way. That very night, under the cover of sacred darkness, exploring the queen's grounds, the two rats had first realized their mutual affections for one another and had chosen to get "married" not too long after. Their marriage was in quotations because although they did try to mimic a human ceremony, of course quite a few changes were made and quite a few liberties were taken. But when all was said and done, they both mated one another with pride and joy in their eyes. They had chosen to wed in a patch of violets not too far from Queen Victor's bedchambers.

"It is a most glorious and wonderful sight," Richard sighed as the violet field stretched out before him under the dim light of the stars.

"Just like the night we first realized," Sir Edward wrapped a paw and a tail around his new mate. The two of them spent the rest of that night in paradise, sitting in a field of violet, staring up at a sky full of silver.

But not too long after this, one particular scandal within the queen's court left both of the rats shell-shocked. One of the higher up lords had been caught cavorting with a duke. Although the rats had supposed, on some level, that human homosexuality was just as plausible as rat homosexuality, to actually witness it and its subsequent fallout as the scandal spread across the court like wildfire was something else entirely. Both men were left in great disgrace, regarded even lower than the peasants who begged at the castle gates, and they were both stripped of all of their titles and powers before being imprisoned for sexual immorality. That had been what first sparked change within Sir Edward and Richard. To witness two male humans being arrested for sexual immorality had convinced Richard to wish to hide while Sir Edward only desired to become even bolder. Their bond was torn in opposing directions, Richard wishing to sever all romantic ties with Edward as quickly as possible while Sir Edward became adamant that if there was ever a time for them to be brave, it was now.

"You cannot leave me now! Not when so much is at stake!" the brown rat cried to his mate.

"But Sir Edward, you've seen what the humans have done! What will become of us?" Richard shook his head and backed away from Sir Edward.

"We will decide what will become of us!" Sir Edward insisted passionately. "We will stand together forever and be brave in the face of whatever may come our way! We have loved one another far too deeply for far too long to ever be free to go back now!"

"Don't be to sure of that, my friend," Richard replied lowly, then he had slunk away from Sir Edward that night, fleeing from his mate's side and dashing away out the nearest window and through the infamous field of violets where they had been wedded in what felt like an eternity ago.

The two interacted several more times after that, Sir Edward trying to convince Richard to return to him, but Richard was equally stubborn, not deeming a rekindled relationship worth the potential backlash. He remained firm in his choice to hide and seldom saw Sir Edward after that night when they finally parted ways. But Sir Edward still did not give up. Although he respected Richard's wishes and left him alone, Sir Edward continued to be very out and proud about who he was, never outing Richard, but refusing to deny his feelings for the other rat. It divided the castle's colony and while most of the rats really didn't give their own rear ends about who was mating with whom, the select few that did choose to get in on the action created quite a stir for everyone else.

One faction supported Edward's decision to be who he was while the others insisted he stop, or at least not be so loud about it.

"Not so loud?" Sir Edward had frowned. "When humans are being locked away in cages far less fancy than ours? There has never been a more important time for us to be loud than now!" and those rats were swift to try and silence Edward. They didn't care who he chose to mate with, but they found his passion to be quite unnecessary, and borderline annoying. But a few of Edward's supporters did come to him one day, whispering of escape. They were going to leave the castle life behind and take to the streets, where they could do some real good.

"There is a place we can hide!" one of the rats whispered to Sir Edward. "A place that needs and wants our passion! We will get nothing done in this stuffy old castle, so come away with us! Let us flee tonight and rise in the morning!" and Sir Edward was swift to follow this rat, and the few others coming along for the ride, out of the castle forever. He had not seen his owner since that fateful night.

"And that's when you came here!" Emily breathed, wiping away a tear as she listened to Sir Edward's tragic love story.

"Sort of," the rat corrected gently, offering Emily a small cloth he'd found to act as a handkerchief for her tears. Although he knew his story was quite sad, he did not wish for his dear Emily to weep over it.

"This small group and I met up with a larger one living in the sewers of London. There were all sorts of groups down there, in the underneath. It was sort of like this Asylum. I understand that you ladies have many different organizations in this monstrous place, so did the rats down below. I stayed with them for a time before I wound up gravitating here. The underground groups kept on sending rats into the various asylums across England and I just so happened to join up with a group coming to this one. It was a dismal place, but I still found a charm to it, and a real need for my service! So I stayed. I would occasionally come and go, returning to the main sewers, but this asylum became my main base of operation. In time, then, I even started up my own group here. I had all the other rats already living her coalesce under one banner and I became its head."

"The League of Asylum Plague Rats," Emily murmured.

"Yes indeed, my dear," Sir Edward gave her a little bow. "And I have been here ever since."

"But do you never miss Richard?" Emily hated to pry on such a sore topic, but the curiosity was killing her. Sir Edward was very understanding and kind, though, and he had no reserves about telling Emily everything she wished to know.

"Yes, him," the rat nodded, eyes twinkling. "Well, this is the part of the story that I think you will like... You see, in time, I met him, right here in this very asylum!" he cried and Emily's jaw dropped.

"You did?!" she sounded amazed.

"I did!" Sir Edward nodded happily. "He, too, had finally fled the queen's service, intent only upon finding a newer, quieter, happier life in the city streets. Just as I had, he found himself swept up in the tide of rats living underground and somehow managed to make his way here, stumbling in as a lost and lonely drifter, as all inhabitants here are. We did not realize at first, but through luck and coincidence, we managed to meet again."

"And are you on friendly terms?" Emily asked, wringing her hands hopefully.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Sir Edward replied, swishing his tail. On cue, a smaller rat appeared from the shadows.

"Miss Emily!" he bowed.

"Richard!" Emily's eyes widened and she bowed her head quickly with respect. Once she raised her head again, though, she noticed something tucked behind Richard's ear. It was an old violet flower. Richard scurried over and hopped delicately onto Emily's other knee, smiling fondly at the rat that had been perched upon her knee for the entire duration of this tale.

"Tis I," he said, having eyes only for his old mate.

"But how- why?" Emily looked at them both in wonder.

"Love," came the reply in unison.

"You see, Emily, this is the part I think you will most enjoy," Sir Edward finally turned to the redheaded inmate with a twinkling and merry smile. "Richard, although he had no idea that I had come here, had chosen to be here because he figured that he wanted no regal and fancy, elegant life if I could not be a part of it. He would've preferred a cold and lonely life on the streets if it gave him the chance to ever see me again, as opposed to staying in the lap of luxury in a world where he knew for a fact that I would never return to. Do you know what this means, my child?"

Emily could only shake her head, still in awe and wonder of this story and its happy ending (for once!).

"It means," Richard finished. "That I followed him from the stars to the gutters. Just as you and your beloved Lady Veronica, I have chosen to stick beside my true mate. You made an oath to follow your Veronica from the gutters to the stars, and to one day see the day in which the two of you would walk freely upon the surface world once again. Well, truly, I tell you, I have made the same exact choice, only in reverse. I have also vowed to see my beloved again, and I vowed that I would follow him anywhere, even if it took me from-"

"The stars to the gutters!" Emily finished, letting out a reverent breath.

"Exactly, my dear," Richard bowed to her before taking Sir Edward's paw in his own, a smile on his ratty face.

It was then that Emily realized that Richard was not the only one wearing a violet. Sir Edward's little old top hat, although it had appeared black at first glance, was actually a very, very dark purple. It was a violet. Wherever Sir Edward had gotten that hat (or the materials to make it) did not really matter. What did matter was the color he'd chosen. Violet. Even after all of this time. And suddenly, all around them, the dark air of the asylum seemed to glow with life and light and love. The love these two rats had shown for one another was enough to lift the gloom of the asylum, having each chosen to leave their old spoiled lives behind to live more dismal but more meaningful ones in the asylum. Each had, metaphorically speaking, sacrificed godhood to come down to the level of a mortal, and they had each done it in the name of love, and they had been reunited here, preferring to live a life together down below than to live a life apart above. Suddenly, the dark air of the asylum seemed to brighten. Now, it was no longer black, but a very dark, deep, rich and full purple. It was all violet.

**AN: Sorry this was so long, but Sir Edward is awesome and it's totally my headcanon that he's a gay rat. We need more Asylum stories ASAP, I would never say no to more of Sir Edward. **


	25. Emily X Veronica: Sex

**AN: There's no smut in this story, but there is a part where Veronica talks about female anatomy (in a serious fashion, no innuendos or jokes) and I just wanted to give a heads up in case anyone isn't into that sort of thing or would prefer not to see it spelled out in a fanfic. **

"So, what did the doctors say?" Emily asked, eyes already sparkling in amusement as Veronica sauntered merrily back into her cell.

"They said I'm a- a- a n-n-ny- nym-pho-man-i-ac," Veronica pronounced, counting each syllable off on her fingers, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she struggled to get the long and complicated medical term out. But even though it was quite a mouthful, she looked incredibly pleased and proud at garnering a diagnosis with such a long and fancy-sounding title.

"A nymphomaniac?" Emily's own eyes narrowed as she tasted the unfamiliar word in her mouth, it rolling rather slowly and unsteadily off her tongue. "What does it mean?"

"I don't know!" Veronica replied cheerfully. "But I think it sounds absolutely _delicious_, don't you?"

"Hmm, I suppose. So long as you aren't sick. Or at least, sicker than normal," Emily replied slowly, a smile creeping onto her face once more.

Of course, to some degree, every single little last person in this place was sick, it was the Asylum For Wayward Victorian Girls after all, only sick people were ever committed here. But Emily was glad to know that this latest diagnosed illness was nothing fatal. And she couldn't stop a laugh at how proud Veronica looked with her newest disease named and labeled onto her. She was perhaps the only inmate in the entire asylum who managed to deride any pleasure at all from the grueling, horrific and degrading "tests" performed on them to diagnose them with whatever new illness or hysteria was plaguing the inmates at the time. Every time those awful examinations were done, Veronica always came out looking quite pleased, as if every new diagnosis was another badge for her to add to her ever-growing collection.

"I don't think so," Veronica replied. "From what I heard from the whispers, it is more of a behavior than a disease, per se. At least in the classical sense," Veronica put a thoughtful finger to her chin. "In fact, I think they said it had something to do with sex..."

"Ha! Well! If any diagnosis had to be sex-related, it would surely be yours!" Emily gave a bark of laughter. Everyone in the asylum, from the plague rats to the leeches, from the new inmates to the old doctors, knew that Veronica _loved _to _love_. She was addicted to sex in all of its great many forms. Making love was her favorite past time and, as she had said a few times before, "why make war when you could make love?" and she beheld to that little old adage very ferociously. There was a reason she was informally known as "The Naughty Veronica" by some of the inmates.

There wasn't an inmate quite so sexually active as Veronica, nor were there any who knew as much about the activity as she did. Veronica was the reigning queen in that aspect, the most experienced and knowledgeable in all things sex-related. Veronica was everyone's teacher in that aspect, able to tell them all the ins and outs (literally) and the ups and downs, with any sort of partner imaginable. How many other inmates had shared their first time with her? And how many doctors had she all too gladly taken to bed with? The libido on Veronica was enough to outweigh the entire rest of the asylum and the only thing bigger than Veronica's drive for sex was her knowledge about it and her love for it.

"It's quite simple, darlings," Veronica had once been caught instructing a gaggle of newer, younger inmates. "Between a woman's legs is a vagina, but I am sure that most of you knew that already," Veronica paused to give her "class" a naughty little wink while they, in response, either laughed back or looked uncomfortable to hear the word "vagina" spoken aloud, by a woman no less!

"But there is more to it than just that," she explained. "There is the clitoris, which a small, pearl-shaped bit at the very top. It is highly sensitive and where a woman can experience some of the most profound and fierce pleasures during sex or masturbation, that is, when it is physically touched and pleasured," Veronica paused with another scandalous smile. Some of the more licentious inmates looked quite pleased with the lesson while some of the more modest ones were blushing hotly, but no eye or ear turned away from Veronica's rather _stimulating_ lecture.

"A woman also has two sets of "lips" down below, the labia majora and minora. The former is the most visible pair while the latter is what directly surrounds the vaginal opening, the clitoris, and so on and so forth, and the entire thing is called the vulva!" several confused looks flicked across the inmates' faces and Veronica's own lit up in a smile.

"Ah! I got you there, didn't I? You see, darlings, the vagina is only one part of the vulva. The better term for the entire area is the vulva..." and so on and so forth went Veronica's little lecture, even switching over into male anatomy.

"How do you know so much about male anatomy!?" one of the more innocent inmates looked shy and repulsed as Veronica explained about foreskins, testicles, prostate glands and other things found between a male's legs. Veronica laughed out loud in response to this question.

"Darling, darling, I know more about the male anatomy than most males do, I think!" she dared to brag. "For who else in this entire bloody asylum has done more research on the topic than I? Who has studied more male forms in all of their many shapes, sizes and stages than I? Can you find me a doctor anywhere in all of this asylum, no, in all of _London _who knows as much about himself as I?" then she began to brag and recount the many sexual encounters she had with males of all types, throughout all of her life. It was a very long and thorough list.

"I can explain far more to you about what's between a man's legs than a man can!" she insisted boldly. "For they do not study their bodies, they only worship and idolize them. They paint them and sculpt them, but with what accuracy? It is I who has truly had that _hands-on experience, _it is I who has dared to actually look and study and know and familiarize. You talk to any man and he will lie, about strength, length, speed and endurance, but I can tell you how well they really perform at night..." then came another saucy little wink as Veronica's sex talk took a much more anecdotal turn. By the end of it, the inmates were certain that there had never been anyone in all the world who'd had as much sex as Veronica.

But where had Veronica gotten all of these fancier terms from? She was only a lowly Victorian peasant girl, highly illiterate and definitely uneducated. Well, the answer was simple. From the rats. The League of Asylum Plague Rats were friends to the inmates and a few of them who had taken a liking to the kindhearted Veronica were more than happy to steal a few charts and diagrams from the doctors for her to study. That was part of the way she had become so well versed in the world of sex. Sure, she had the hands-on experience, but she was able to really put it all together thanks to the rats, who stole knowledge for her and gave her the words necessary to understand and explain herself to other uncertain young girls.

Veronica really did fancy herself a sexologist of sorts. Perhaps she lacked a fancy degree, but she did carry the knowledge and passion, and she took great pride in all of her work. She didn't just dabble in the science side of it either. That was only to show off a bit. She also lectured upon cultural and historical variations of sex, stolen from history books, and she, of course, gave a great deal many demonstrations and, ahem, _private tutoring sessions_,to give the curious dears more direct and applicable lessons for the fate of their future sex lives.

She gave them all sorts of tips and tricks and hints, explaining what each body part was and what it was good for and what it did during a proper session of sex. She talked about orgasms and G-spots. She talked about lips, teeth, tongues and fingers. She talked about feathers and more aggressive sorts of bed-play, including breath-play, chains, whips and bondage. She talked about safety, health and consent. She also knew every position ever conjured up and had even invented a few of her own, some of which were more specific than others. But that was only because, being who she was, she'd had sex on, over and in every square inch of the asylum, keeping a master list of all of her partners.

"There are only a few I have yet to bed with!" she bragged as she mentally ticked off the names of her very, very, very long repertoire. The others were amazed when they weren't disgusted and she seemed quite pleased with herself and her years and years of experience and research into the topic. But as wise as Veronica liked to tout herself as being, even she had a few biases.

"What a very interesting lecture," Emily panted, voice shaky as she and Veronica finished another "tutoring session".

"You always were my favorite student, Em," Veronica replied, not quite as winded as Emily. Emily wanted to come up with a witty reply, but for once, words and mind failed her and all she could do was gasp a little and continue to stare up at Veronica's large, dark eyes. They looked hungry for more, but there was nothing demanding in them, she was just inquisitive and genuinely interested.

"Perhaps one day, my darling Emily may wish to join me on my travels and performances, and perhaps we may also become real and proper scientists when that day finally arrives?" the larger woman asked shyly. It was strange to see shyness on a woman who was so very out and open, but as wise as Veronica was to the ways of sex, romance and love, even she was not free from its cruel and insistent sting. Even she was brought to her knees (ahem) when Cupid's arrows burrowed into her heart, mind, body and soul. As proud as Veronica was, and as distant and unbiased as she liked to think she was, she was still only human and she wanted nothing more than to find a companion (or companions, plural, she was open to pretty much anything and everything) to share her life and joy with. She may have played the roll of the local boob (literally and metaphorically), but there was a true heart beating inside her rather large buxom and as much as she enjoyed the physical aspects of sex, she also enjoyed the mental and emotional thrills as well and she knew that the quickest way to her heart was not just through sex, but through promises, kisses, love and companionship, forever and always. Even more than sex, Veronica wanted love, and more specifically, she wanted Emily.

Veronica looked at her redheaded lover hopeful, silently asking. Would Emily wish to accompany her forever? To go on majestic tours around the world and sing and dance with her for all the world to see and applaud? And would Emily one day mind becoming a fellow scientific mind, studying sex, sexuality and womanhood? It would break her heart if Emily said no and chose to follow a different path, so Veronica hoped and wished that Emily would say yes and stay with her forever and always, from the gutters to the stars.

"Why, I would like nothing more!" Emily replied, words finally coming back to her as a grin spread across her face. That expression was quickly mirrored on Veronica's own vivacious visage and she gave a gasp of delight before dragging Emily in for another big kiss, warm and sweet and deep. But as passionate and fiery as the kiss was, in this particular instance, there was no lust, just love, affection and gratitude. The inmates liked to joke that Veronica was a very large entity all around. She had a large body and a large personality, but even larger than those were here breasts, but even larger than those was her mind, but even larger than that were her heart and soul and capability to love. Not just to make love, but to give and receive it as well. Emily had never agreed with anything more, and the pair spent the rest of the day (and subsequent night) together, tangled up as one body, heart, mind and soul, locked at the lips, smiling and laughing the hours away in a red haze of love, lust, pleasure and sex.

_No these lips are not for the taking_

_But if you'll only agree_

_That we never should part_

_You'll be breaking my heart_

_If you don't kiss me!_

**AN: I know Veronica is essentially the asylum's fanservice woman and stereotypical large-breasted slut, but I honestly really love her character and I think she has so much potential to be a giant cinnamon roll. There are so many lines of dialogue (both in book and musical album) that she has that all point to a much wiser, kinder woman than a mere sex addict.**

**And it is my personal opinion that she would be the best sex ed teacher ever, like, she wouldn't be afraid to talk about this stuff. She would be very knowledgeable and eager to discuss, instead of trying to sweep it under the rug. She's the kind of teacher we need sometimes tbh. I would take a class with her.**

**I just need some Nerdy Veronica in my life, an adorable bby who gets excited about studying and learning and thinking and then sharing that knowledge with all of her friends. It would be so fluffy!**


	26. Maura X Jane: Life

The Queen of the Dead. That was what they called her. That was what the rest of the Boston PD liked to call Dr. Maura Isles, their chief medical examiner. She supposed that she deserved the name, it certainly was very fitting, but it bothered her for some reason. They usually only said the name in passing, or behind her back, they never used it while talking directly to her, but for some reason, she still felt as if that was all anyone knew her as. The Queen of the Dead. And for some reason, it bothered her. She was not a lively soul and she did spend quite a lot of time around dead bodies, but did they really have to point that out? As if she didn't already know she wasn't exactly the life of the party? But the name just stuck. The Queen of the Dead. And it got under her skin and wormed its way into her head, burying itself deep within her brain. The Queen of the Dead. The Queen of the Dead. The Queen of the Dead. Why did that have to be who she was? Why was that her legacy here? Why not something nicer, brighter, sweeter... or more human? Why couldn't it have been something more _alive_?

Vampire. Corpse Whisperer. Tomb Raider. Ghost Whisperer. The Human Ouija Board. The Medium. Clairvoyant. Witch. Summoner or Conjurer. Voodooist. Necromancer or Necromerchant. Spirit Speaker. These were all other playful little names that the BPD gave her, each one pertaining to her unpleasant and less-than-lively job as the local medical examiner and autopsy-performer, but even as she stood over the operating table staring down at her latest project, she found herself despising the names.

"The Queen of the Dead!" she muttered angrily under her breath. "I am so much more than that!" but it was hard to take her seriously as she picked up her favorite scalpel and slowly began to dissect the body lying prostrate before her. These were her only friends, the cold tools and the even colder bodies. She was the Queen of the Dead, the operating room was her kingdom, the scalpel was her scepter, and all of the murder victims were her loyal subjects. God, how she hated it all! The Queen of the Dead. She hated the title and all of its lonely connotations most of all.

But at the end of every long working day, in the tiny snatches of peace between the chaos of murder and crime, Maura would go home and give a bittersweet sigh of relief. In her house, she was never known as the Queen of the Dead, but that was only because she was the only one who lived there. There was no one else around to call her anything, for better or for worse. On the one hand, it was nice to no longer hear the whispered names and rumors that circulated about her and her less-than-lively line of work, but on the other hand, it was so quiet that it felt like living in a ghost town, a fitting kingdom for the Queen of the Dead. So even while at home and away from her work, Maura was still the Queen of the Dead.

But than one Detective Jane Rizzoli stepped into her life. It was quite by accident, Jane having been posing as a hooker when Maura ran into her at a coffee shop bright and early one morning. She was trying to haggle for a donut, wallet not with her because she was playing the role of a poor prostitute. Maura had swooped in then to help, offering to buy a nice hot meal for the poor woman, but she was met with disdain and scorn.

"Not every hooker has a heart of gold, sweetheart," came the sharp reply from the disguised detective when Maura offered to buy her food.

"Apparently not... sweetheart," Maura dared to shoot back in an uncharacteristically bold retort. It was enough to make Jane raise her eyebrows and Maura instantly felt embarrassed, but the next time they met, and at the Boston PD no less, Jane had since changed her mind about the feisty blond medical examiner. Maura had not realized that Jane was only acting as a prostitute and, at first, she feared that Jane was going to snap at her for trying to buy her breakfast earlier, but instead, Jane had only come over to congratulate Maura on her raw gumption and wit.

"I have to admit, I'm impressed by your spirit and liveliness!" the detective laughed as she and Maura had another, more proper, introduction. She extended a hand to shake, all bad blood clearly gone as far as she was concerned. Maura felt the same way, secretly delighted beyond words to know that Jane wasn't mad about that awkward first meeting, but to hear Jane call her "lively" was so unexpected that it essentially put Maura on a mental lockdown and she could only stare at Jane in response to Jane's remark. Lively? Did Jane really think that Maura was lively? It was the first time anyone had ever said that about her and Maura didn't know if she was offended or ecstatic!

"Ah, not into the handshake thing, I see," Jane snickered when Maura only continued to stare at her. Blessedly, once again, Jane had taken Maura's social blunder with grace, only laughing it off instead of getting hurt or offended.

"I remember when you offered me your money that morning, latex gloves and all. I suppose you would be a bit of a germaphobe, wouldn't you?" the detective continued to tease while Maura could still only stand there and stare. But the second Jane said "germophobe" that word seemed to bring Maura back to life (funny how much the theme of life and death was popping up in their relationship) and she began to randomly spout facts about the technical name of that particular pathology.

"Actually, the more technical term would be mysophobia! But other names include verminophobia, bacillophobia and bacteriophobia," she stuttered and Jane's eyebrows went up again while Maura continued to ramble helplessly.

"Ah, so she speaks!" the detective remarked. "You won't shake hands but you will serenade me with all of your marvelous intellect?" and Maura was quickly silenced again, looking quite ashamed of herself. Seeing that frown flicker across her face, however, Jane was quick to retcon.

"No disrespect intended, of course," she said and she even smiled disarmingly to try and reassure Maura. That smile, though, left Maura paralyzed once again and all she could do was stare...

From that day onward, the homicide detective and chief medical examiner became friends. Then best friends. Then girlfriends. And now, Maura finally, truly, felt happy, for once in her life. She felt complete and content. With Jane now a part of her legacy, even though she really looked like the Queen of the Dead now (come on, her girlfriend was a _homicide detective_) Maura had never felt more lively. She had never felt more _alive_. Being with Jane had unlocked a new side to Maura that she didn't even know she had. She was still very introverted and awkward, but she socialized more and felt happier with life as a whole. She was no longer so gloomy, gray, distant and bitter. She smiled and talked. Thanks to Jane, Maura began to come out of her shell, and her entire life improved along with this change.

Even better, though, when Jane found out about the "the Queen of the Dead" nickname and how much Maura hated it, she was quick to lay down the law that if anybody else in the PD ever dared say the name again, Jane would find an excuse to arrest them. It seemed like a silly threat at the time, but it did the trick and, slowly but surely, that cruel title died out, finally bowing down to its own grave, its life over.

But even if Jane had not stepped up and tried to actively shut down Maura's hated nickname, just by virtue of being more open and friendly, Maura would've lost the nickname anyway. Now that more of her coworkers knew who she really was inside, none of them felt any further need to continue with the nickname. She was no longer the Queen of the Dead, but a human and a friend whom they knew personally. She was not a mysterious and ethereal figure of the Other World, but a fellow member of the BPD. She was no longer a stranger, but a friend, and with all that mystery gone, she was no more a Queen of the Dead than any of the rest of them were. She was finally one of them, a part of the team...

The rest of the PD finally learned that Maura was kind, intelligent, funny, caring and chatty (under the right circumstance of course) and for that, she really could no longer be called the Queen of the Dead. Perhaps she still worked with death all the time, but Jane had brought new life to her life and the Queen of the Dead was no longer a suitable title for one as sunshiney as Maura. The rest of the PD found her too sweet to be a Queen of the Dead. She was too lively and friendly with them now. Now, she was the Queen of the Living, and the first time Maura ever heard that title (jokingly given to her by Korsak and Frost) she had never felt more alive or happy.

"The Queen of Life!" Maura smiled to herself. "That is who I am now, the Queen of Life!" and it was all thanks to her "queen consort", Detective Jane Rizzoli, the homicide detective. Now, Maura finally had friends, and with it, came new life and understanding, on both sides of the equation.

Wasn't it funny how life had such a strange way of bringing itself up, even in the most morbid of places? Who'd have ever thought a chief medical examiner and homicide detective would be able to fill each other with so much light, life and love? But it had happened! And everyone in the BPD could testify for it. Now, Maura was no longer a dark and unhappy queen sitting on her throne alone. Instead, she walked amongst her people and had found a new place and a new family, and it was all thanks to Jane. But most importantly of all, she had found a new life...

**AN: Rizzoli and Isles was a great show and Jane and Maura had amazing chemistry together. They were lesbian buddy cops, I'm all about that life! Fight me on this. (Also, what is it with the blond/brunette lesbian trope? Jane and Maura are only one example of a very long list where this trope applies).**


	27. Lafontaine X Perry: Healing

In the days, weeks, months, _years _after the almost-apocalypse of Silas, Lafontaine and Perry both had a lot of healing to do. On a literal level, of course, Lafontaine had to adjust to life with one eye while Perry had to heal up from all of the scrapes and scars she'd suffered while her body acted as a host to a war goddess. But even deeper than those physical injuries ran the mental and emotional ones, and some of them spanned way back in their joint history, far before Silas ever was even in the picture.

The very first scar came when Perry realized that she had romantic feelings for her best friend. In those days, Lafontaine had still identified as a woman. The simple term for Perry, then, was "lesbian". But it had still scared her. As crazy as she had been in her younger days, in love with all things mystical and magical, sexuality was still something she had never truly understood. As such, even in her dizziest moments, she never told Lafontaine about how she felt towards her oldest, closest friend.

Several years later, then, Perry underwent a complete change in personality, suddenly becoming the biggest normie to ever exist. She was quite anxious, jumpy and skittish, terrified of anything even remotely out of the ordinary, and she took up very mundane hobbies like cooking, cleaning and knitting. Gone were the days of Wiccan magic, replaced by lots and lots of Lysol, Betty Crocker and quilts, scarves and sweaters. Lafontaine changed as well, though that change was not nearly as welcomed by the newly-normalized Perry. This came in the form of Lafontaine realizing that they were nonbinary. The first change was the name, and they began to go by "Lafontaine" instead of their old, overly-feminine first name. Then came the request to switch to gender neutral pronouns. And all along the way, Lafontaine began to change physically. Shorter hair, more neutral styles, a couple piercings and tattoos. All things that Perry had highly disapproved of... at first.

Even when Perry finally managed to accept her old friend's transition, though, the two never really managed to put the issue to rest. It sort of just slipped away from them, pushed aside by things far bigger than gender or sexuality (like life or death). For that, their dispute and inability to see eye to eye was swept under the rug instead of dealt with correctly, like a wound that was only lightly bandaged instead of receiving treatment and medication. Then came Perry's possession at the hands of the Sumerian goddess, Inanna. Love and war, those were her dominions, and how similar they were. And then she had dabbled in death, completing the powerful and mystical trifecta that all human passions seemed to lead from and flow back into, in an endless round.

But even after Inanna was finally expelled from Perry's body and mind again, she and Lafontaine still seemed incapable of seeing eye to eye or actually talking things out instead of resorting to passive aggressive acts and beating around the bush.

"How's your eye?" came the tentative remark.

"Better," the exact same tone replied. "How about your body?"

"Mostly mine, I think," all too formal and polite for two old friends who had been that way since the tender age of five. But neither of them knew how to break the ice. Neither of them knew how to be the first one to bend. They'd spent far too long apart, hearts growing hard and unmovable. They no longer knew how to talk, the capability lost in a chaotic stream of war, death and old (ancient) grudges.

"Don't forget you disinf-" Perry began shakily, pointing to a bottle near Lafontaine's hand.

"I've got it, Perry, I've got it. Don't worry. I'm not going to forget my own eye medication," there was a mixture of humor and annoyance in Lafontaine's voice as they said this and neither of the two of them knew if Lafontaine was more annoyed at Perry for being such a worrywart, or if Lafontaine had been trying to break the ice with a playful joke.

"Just promise me you'll meditate later," Lafontaine said at last. That was Perry's "medication" at the moment, since no pharmacy in the world had anything for the diagnosis of "recovering from divine possession".

"Yeah, yeah, I will, I will," Perry's voice was soft and light, like moth wings, beating steadily, but fearful of creating a stir. Lafontaine threw the anxious girl a helpless and disappointed look. Perry wasn't supposed to be skittish around _them_. But she was. She was treating them like a stranger, fretful and nervous, and neither of the two of them knew how to break the ice...

But with each passing day, the two did continue the long, complicated healing process. Lafontaine made themselves a bionic eye to replace the one that they lost and Perry finally managed to be less skittish. She still had her moments and she was still a bit of a control freak, but it was nowhere near as bad as when she first came out of Inanna's selfish grasp. In those earlier days, the PTSD had been bad, for her and Lafontaine both, but with each passing day, it was getting better. It took lots of time, effort and researching and it even took some therapy and medication, but they both managed to get there eventually, opening up a company together (Laferry Industries), but even that was not the end of their struggles. Instead, if anything, new wounds were opened up, on top of the few that still had not yet properly been healed. It was like a bone that fixed itself incorrectly, or a scar that didn't quite scab open. It was an attempt, but it was incomplete, and the wound would still fester and sting until something could be done to fix it all over again.

This time, in order to re-break that bone, metaphorically speaking, it took nothing less than an army of vengeful spirits, the head among them relentlessly out to steal the life their ex-vampire friend Carmilla possessed. Her name was Elle Sheridan and she was a ghost with a major grudge, an unresolved past and unhealed wounds with Carmilla. Lafontaine was spirited away (pun possibly intended) during Elle's first attack against Carmilla and Co. This, of course, had devastated Perry. She was terrified that this time, Lafontaine really would perish, and that their long and beautiful future together would never come to fruition. What if this time, something bad actually happened? What if Perry never got to apologize? Never got to tell Lafontaine how much she loved them?

But fate was kind and merciful and it brought Lafontaine back to Perry eventually, though their first reunion had not been half as sweet as Perry had hoped. The two were still so new to one another, still almost like stranger, that what should've been a reunion rife with sweetness, warm, love and forgiveness was nothing more than irritation and more passive aggressive behavior. But in Lafontaine's defense, they had just been forced to witness a nightmarish Hell dimension. That was worse than anything Elle could've done on her own. But during one final fight with the wrathful, vengeful ghost, Perry and Lafontaine both got a peek into Perry's Hell-scape. It was almost comical at first, her endlessly filing papers for Laferry Industries, but the aura of the Hell-scape cut much deeper than the immediate hallucination did.

In that one glance, the couple did not only see Perry slaving away at a desk late at night, surrounded by a forest worth of documents, but they also saw a sad and lonely woman who felt neglected by the one person she loved most in the world. They saw a woman whose life was slipping by without her. It was one of those midlife crisis thingies where the person with the crisis finally stopped and asked themselves what the heck they were doing with their life, and if it was really making them happy and fulfilled, or if they were only going through the motions. That was what Perry's true Hell-scape was: a long, boring, meaningless, pointless and empty life without Lafontaine. Lafontaine was there when that vision opened itself up to Perry and finally, the first inkling of true healing began...

When Elle's spirit was finally put to rest, while Carmilla and the others were more than happy to go back to their normal old lives again, neither Lafontaine nor Perry were quite ready to follow them back.

"So, I've been thinking a lot about that vision," Lafontaine began awkwardly.

"So have I," Perry replied glumly. There was no more accusation in her voice, just a world-weariness.

"And I was thinking that maybe I should start expanding beyond the two of us, you know? Hire some new employees and get you some more helping hands in the office," Lafontaine continued. "I mean, I know I should've done that a long time ago, but I didn't want to, you know? And not because I didn't want to spare the expense, but because I didn't think we needed to. I didn't want to. I wanted it just to be you and me, but I'm starting to see that maybe that wasn't such a wise idea after all..."

And then Lafontaine finally, finally, finally, truly started to talk. They confessed all of their secret feelings and fears to Perry, explaining the true motivation not just behind why they and Perry had been the only employees of Laferry Industries for so long, but for everything else preceding that moment. It was a mix of selfishness, for Lafontaine did not want to share Perry with anyone else. Carmilla had Laura, Danny, Mel and Kirsch had each other and other rotating lovers. But who did Lafontaine have? Except for Perry. And in the time of Perry's possession, Lafontaine had been granted a taste of what life without Perry would be like. It had not been fun, to put it lightly.

So part of Lafontaine's almost-neglect of Perry was stemmed from possessiveness. And in a similar vein, guilt. Lafontaine felt bad about losing Perry to Inanna, and had wanted to keep the girl close after that. It was fear and love combined, the most tragic and deadly of all mixtures. And unfortunately, one that was all too common, especially in an insecure and still-developing mind such as Lafontaine's. Brilliant as they were, they were still not very old. And Perry had been a source of comfort for them for so very long that losing her was never easy. It was also why Lafontaine had been so mad when Perry seemed incapable of accepting their gender identity as a nonbinary individual. Although they understood that gender was weird and that being nonbinary was definitely uncommon, they had thought (and maybe hoped) that Perry, of all people, would be the one to accept them instantly and unconditionally. Being proved wrong had hurt Lafontaine deeply. Aside from it being highly invalidating, it had stung because it had come from the person Lafontaine loved most in the world: Perry.

As Lafontaine finally swung around to this side of the story, Perry finally felt as though it was time for her to come clean too. Something even stronger than the hand of fate opened her mouth as Lafontaine about their early identity crisis and Perry finally chimed in as well.

"The reason I was so unaccepting at first was because I didn't want things to change between us," Perry confessed. "ironically enough, we wanted the same thing, but approached it from totally different angles. You wanted me to accept you so that nothing would change for us, but I was worried that if I did accept your new nonbinary gender identity, that in and of itself would change our relationship. And I confess, I was worried that after the gender thing, you would start branching out more and more until you left me behind completely..." Perry twiddled her thumbs as she said this.

"I was never as smart as you, Laf, and I was always much slower. "You have to forgive me if any of my own slowness affected what I said to you, and what you may have thought of me. I really never did mean to hurt you, but I was scared too. You don't exist in an isolated vacuum, Laf, every change you make to yourself affects me. That's not me saying you need to consider me in everything you do, but that is me saying that when you were transitioning, so was I. I don't mean to steal your spotlight, because I know this gender discovery was about you and not me, but I had to do some rethinking as well, and it took me some time too..." and all along, that had been Perry's weakness: insecurity and inferiority. If Lafontaine felt insecure and possessive, Perry felt insecure and inferior. Even from their earliest days, Lafontaine had been the better one of the pair while Perry had always just been... Perry. Normal, regular, boring old Perry. If that didn't break a girl's self-esteem, being told that she was nothing special or memorable, what would?

And the world always felt as if it were moving far too fast for the meek, humble, simple girl. She was a mouse amongst lions. She preferred peace and serenity to loudness and heroics. That left her very far behind in the dust, and to be best friends with Lafontaine only made it that much harder. Not only did she have to chase down adventure and excitement, but she had to chase down a nonbinary genius. Of course Perry's inferiority complex had flourished! And then to fall in love with Lafontaine and have to wonder what that made her (sexually speaking) was another piece of her identity that Perry had needed to figure out. Was she really still a lesbian if she was in love with someone who identified as nonbinary? Perhaps to some, the answer was clear, but not to Perry, and she hadn't had anyone to talk to. Lafontaine had been dealing with their own issues and Perry hadn't felt close enough to anyone else.

And then that inferiority complex reared its ugly head again after Lafontaine had needed to save her from Inanna. It was part of why Perry had been so awkward around Lafontaine during the first few months following the end of the almost-apocalypse. And then why Perry had been so resentful of Lafontaine leaving her to play secretary while they got to do all the cool science stuff in the lab. Not only did that make the workload rather uneven, but to Perry's mind, it was Lafontaine subliminally pushing her to the backburner, relegating her to a boring job while Lafontaine got to dabble in the cooler part of their company.

"Oh, Perry!" Lafontaine gasped. "I never meant to make you feel that way!"

"I never meant to make you feel bad either," Perry replied wetly, tears now running down her cheeks. "It seems we were both at fault, doesn't it?" and finally, finally, finally, the two realized that they each still had old scars and wounds they needed to tend to. Some of those old injuries having been caused by themselves and some of them having been caused by each other. And some of these injuries had been festering for years on end now, but at least they were finely beginning to see the wounds. That level of awareness was one of the first steps to the healing process, and now that the two had passed it, maybe this time, their old scars and wounds would heal up correctly.

"There's only one way to find out," Lafontaine murmured as they took Perry's hand and held it tight.

"And that's to go find out!" Perry replied, and for the first time in a very, very, long time, a real expression of genuine love passed between the two old friends. The healing process was finally about to begin!

**AN: I love the Laferry ship and I honestly wish it had had more focus within the series, though I know why it didn't. But even tho the series was unable to devote the time and energy to it, here I am. Because let's be honest, there's a lot to analyze for these two characters, and I'm still a bit miffed that the movie showed nearly no character development for them until the climax. **

**I would've preferred if they had been on the same page from the get-go, continuing their character arc from the end of the webseries and acting as a good foil for Laura and Carmilla, who were nowhere near as stable in their own relationship. But instead they reverted back to their S1-type bickering and we got yet another Laferry fighting subplot. I know it was for the drama, but it felt kind of... wrong. Like, it retconned the ending of S3 and was kind of cliché and overused by the time the movie rolled around. **

**And again, it could've been interesting to see Laferry in a stable relationship across the whole movie to act as a counterpoint for Carmilla and Laura (especially given that the latter couple is far newer to the domestic-romance-life thing) but instead we got Hollistein and Laferry fights in parallel. And of course they both got resolved (shocker). I just wish it could've been more... nuanced, original, colorful and intriguing. A stable Laferry would've been so much more interesting and unique than a return to their S1-level drama. Perry and Laf went through so much growth and maturity during the webseries that it's a shame to see it all retconned for the sake of movie drama. **

**But that's just my two cents on this ship of gay gingers. Do you all agree? Or am I being stupid? Either answer is valid. **


	28. Lucie X Anna: Sunlight

**AN: The second half of this fic is graphic, so stop at the "ooo" if you do not wish to read the more violent bits. This was based off the French horror film of 2008 called "Martyrs". It's very violent, horrific, disturbing, graphic and upsetting, but I find the bond between the two leads to be quite inspiring and bittersweet. It's love, drowning in a sea of death, destruction, despair, demons and desperation. I think it deserves a spot in this anthology, although it is a very dark tale. Once again, stop at the "ooo" if you don't want to see the darker bits.**

"Isn't it beautiful?" Anna asked Lucie as the two of them lay on their backs and stared up at the warm summer sky.

"Sure is," Lucie replied, sounding relatively content for once. Anna smiled to herself. It was days like these that she loved the most, where it could just be her, Lucie, and the sunlight. No other adults were around to tell them what to do, they had no schedule to keep, and they were not forced to stay inside their dismal little orphanage. Instead, on days like this, they were free. Free to live and to dream, no longer confined or hidden away by anything or anyone. It was just the two of them and the sunlight that warmed their faces.

But in Anna's mind, the best part of all about days like this came from seeing Lucie's smile. The poor girl had suffered unspeakable terrors in the past and she was constantly haunted by fearsome hallucinations, monsters. She was stuck in the ghosts and shadows of her past, forever trapped in a dark underground, a torture chamber. Everything there had only ever been black and dark. No sound and no light. The darkness of that place had stained her soul and she was a very grim person even on the best of days. But on rare days like this, she almost became human again. She became bright and warm again. She became alive and real again. She became like the sun and she remembered how to laugh and smile and speak, and as she said, it was all thanks to the sunlight. It was the sunlight that brought her humanity back to her and woke up her sleeping spirit.

"They tortured me down there, kept me totally cut off from everything else," she muttered darkly, shadows flickering across her face as her mind returned to that very dark and lonely Hell. "It was just me and them and all the torture devices that stood between. And no one even knew I was down there, no one remembered me, nobody cared enough to. They couldn't see me, so they didn't care. I was stuck in perpetual night, never allowed to see the sunlight, to see even so much as an inkling of one blessed little ray. But oh, if I would have!" Lucie stared longingly up at the glowing golden orb in the sky. "If I had been able to see even one little ray of hope, maybe I would've come out of it better..." she looked so longing that Anna felt her heart break, but then Lucie's face, eyes, voice and heart all hardened once again.

"But the sunlight is not for people like you and me, for the forgotten ones…"

"Well it is today," Anna finally declared gently, rolling over on her side to caress Lucie's cheek. Lucie seemed surprised by the sudden touch, but because it was Anna, that touch was quick to soothe her. "Perhaps we usually are the forgotten ones, lost in shadow and darkness, but today, we will become each other's sunlight and in each other, we will find and be found!" this was a surprisingly mature, deep and moving thing for little Anna to say, but she was determined in her words. Maybe they usually were the ones who went unseen and unwanted by the rest of the world, kept in a metaphorical darkness just because they had nothing of value to offer society (they were two poor orphaned girls after all, not very useful in society's cruel mind), but today, in this time and place, they would become the queens. They would become the world. They would become each other's worlds. And in those worlds, there would be sunlight, bright, warm and endless. They would shine for and upon one another and be to each other everything that the world was not. Just for that moment, they would be each other's entire universes and the sunlight would finally shine down upon them too.

And as Anna finished speaking her piece, Lucie began to smile again.

"Ok, Anna," she agreed. "I will be your sunlight if you will be mine…" and as her smile grew even broader, Anna felt the sunlight start to shine even brighter.

ooo

Fast forward a decade or so later and both of their suns had set. Lucie was dead, finally having committed suicide because she found herself unable to cope with the trauma of her past. The night finally settled in over her burning spirit and this time, the darkness was everlasting. She even killed herself during the night, vision darkening until it matched the sky. There was no more sunlight for her.

Anna followed not long after, thrust into the very same nightmarish pit Lucie had been subject to 15 years ago as a child. Anna had not believed Lucie at first, thinking that the concept of an underground basement torture chamber in the middle of a normal suburban neighborhood was too impossible and extreme to be real, but only a day after Lucie's suicide, Anna finally got a taste of it herself. Like a burning, blinding ray from the sun, Anna got to witness, firsthand, everything that Lucie had endured 15 years prior. The darkness, the screaming and crying, the isolation, the physical and mental abuse, the beatings, the starvation, the torture, the sensory deprivation, the chains and cruel fists.

Everything Lucie had described, every torture method known to mankind, was utilized to its fullest upon Anna's body. Her body was broken, twisted, beaten, worn and torn. Skin began to rot while it was still on her body, mind and eyes became hazy and unfocused, blood perpetually spilled from wounds and cuts and bruises that lined her face. She was fatally thin, broken bones visible under a very thin and worn layer of skin. She had a permanent hunch now, because she had been kept strapped to a chair for the months and months that this torture lasted. The chains were forever imprinted on her bony, broken wrists.

She had been sitting alone now for three days consecutively, not that she was able to tell. Time did not exist in this hellish place. She was entirely alone, deprived of any and all human life outside of her own. It was one of the sharpest tortures of all, the endless isolation and darkness. Even the overhead light had been turned off. She sat, physically restrained to the point of paralysis, alone in the darkness. No light, no sound, no movement, total sensory deprivation. Even her body was going numb from all the abuse.

And yet, and yet, even in the long nights, endless shadows and darkest hours, Anna was never completely alone. Whether Lucie's spirit really had come back to comfort her and give her the one thing she, herself, had lacked when she used to be the one in Anna's position, or if it was all only a desperate fever dream concocted by Anna's literally and metaphorically broken mind, Anna did not know. All she knew was that even in her darkest, loneliest hours, Lucie was there.

"And will you stay here with me?"

"Of course. Forever,"

And just for a moment, even through the pitch blackness that surrounded her, Anna thought for sure that she saw a thin beam of sunlight spilling down in the distance. For that, she almost managed a smile. Even down here in a tomb of the forgotten, Lucie still managed to find her and come to visit. As a result, even down here, Anna managed to find some sunlight, HER sunlight, one blessed little ray, and with it, she became just a little more human again.

The distant sunlight warmed her skin and she felt Lucie's ghostly hand run down her back before she vanished again, but she would not be gone forever. She would make good on her vows to stay with Anna even until the very end and beyond into eternity. For that, even if the clouds passed by now, Anna knew she would see the sunlight again somehow, and then, she would truly be free.

"I will see you again, my Lucie. The night cannot last forever. The sunlight will return eventually…"

In the distance, the little beam of sunlight got brighter and brighter. It wasn't sunlight at all. It was one of Anna's tormentors opening the trap door above the end of the hallway that led to her torture chamber. They were finally coming back to her once again, ready to beat her bloody and unconscious once again. But Anna was too out of it to realize as such and she continued to stare at the rays of sunlight peeking down from above, somehow missing all the tormentors who were closing in on her, clad in black, carrying chains and clubs, wearing steel-toed boots, ready to go in for the attack.


	29. Stonewall: Nature

**AN: In honor of today (6/28/19) being Stonewall's 50****th**** anniversary. Happy Pride, my readers. **

Nature. Usually, when one thought of "nature", they thought of the great outdoors. They thought of plants, trees, rocks and rivers. Or they would perhaps think of order and harmony, of perfect balance and unity. Everything would be right. Everything would be good. Everything would be orderly, organized and natural. Everything would fit and fit in perfectly. Nature meant natural. It meant organic and original. It meant real and wholesome and true. It was a down-to-earth and earthy word. But there wasn't much room for nature in the city, in either senses of the word.

In a place fraught with people, there wasn't much room for nature. Humanity took the wheel and nature took a back seat. Manmade laws overrode nature, and social constructions destroyed what was natural and original. There were no forests in the city. Plants were only decorative, few and far between, lining streets, but only for the purpose of visually pleasing a human. Tall clusters of buildings, busy subways, packed highways, restless feet, open stores, and businesses and restaurants were what ruled the world of the city. No nature, just manmade objects. Hustle and bustle, vim and vigor, political turmoil, passionate opinion, diversity, division... uprising.

Nature was always overturned in a city, not just in a literal sense, but in a metaphorical one as well. Stonewall was a perfect example of how. It began as a simple tearoom. Totally natural, normal, humble and acceptable. It was just a restaurant. But then nature was overturned. Underneath the surface title, the Inn was a speakeasy. The natural order of the city and its laws were overturned within Stonewall. It was no mere restaurant, it was a bar in a world where alcohol was illegal.

Then even after the Prohibition ended, Stonewall continued to be a hotbed for rebellion, turmoil, conflict and all other things that upset nature. It remained as a bar before being turned into a base of operation by the Mafia in 1966. Once again, nature was overturned. The Inn became a gay bar, a place of unlicensed liquor, drug deals, homosexuals, and dancing. It was the only bar for gay men in New York City where dancing was allowed. It was very different from the rest of the outside world. It was very _unnatural_ by comparison.

In an effort to return and retain order, police raids on gay bars became increasingly common around that time, but bars knew all too well about how to upset the natural order of things. They hid most of their alcohol, leaving only a few bottles out in the open. That way, if a raid ever did happen, the police would only find a fraction of what they had, and business could resume as soon as the raid was over. The police took great pains to restore order and nature to the city, but Stonewall was not so easily stopped. Instead, it continued to overturn the natural order every way it could.

The entire joint became a place for those outside of nature to hide. Aside from the mafia and homosexuals, people of color, people in poverty, youth, and people who were gender nonconforming (whether they be trans or drag queens) took shelter in Stonewall. Outsiders and outcasts to society took up residence in a bar where the unnatural was natural. The bar took all of the people the rest of the world did not want.

Then Stonewall became even more radical. It upset nature again and, in the early morning hours of June 28, 1969, around 1:20 a.m., the ultimate act of defiance against nature and naturalness occurred: rebellion. It was a riot, an uprising. What began as a typical police raid quickly entered into unnatural territory when the vehicles set to take the arrested patrons away was delayed. As the arrested patrons remained on the bar's doorsteps, people on the outside began to take notice. Numbers grew as more and more bystanders took interest until their ranks began to outnumber the police force.

The police, in fear, barricaded themselves inside Stonewall. The people set to restore the natural order of things took shelter in the very place they came to silence. The arbitrators and ordainers of nature took shelter and hid in a place of chaos and unnatural essence. The irony cannot be stated enough. Nature really was overturned on that night.

When the arrests finally began, the people fought back. With so many onlookers around, the outcasts finally had an army to back them up. For the first time ever, then, they finally had a chance. Nature was upset, disturbed, and for once, it was the cops who were on defense. The anger and tension hit a climax some point during the arrests and finally, finally, finally, the riot began. The Stonewall Uprising was here.

For two days, the siege on the Inn continued. Queer people united in a way they had never united before. The battle was violent and bloody, but people were angry enough that the pain and threat of the police was finally smaller to something else: the raw agony and bitterness of oppression. If any group of people would be able to tolerate the hurt of a riot, of a rebellion, it would be the people who had spent their entire lives fighting already. Gays, lesbians, drag queens, homeless youth, people of color, they all fought back against the cops, and everything that the cops represented, the first and foremost being nature. Finally, the queer community became daring enough to challenge nature itself!

Then even after the riot was over, the rebellion continued. An uprising could not happen without having a ripple effect on everything nearby. Protests happened, queer groups were created, visibility and press coverage was given, gay pride was established. The country was shaken, nature uprooted and replaced by raw rebellion.

Now, 50 years later, even though the riot is over, the rebellion is not. People across the globe continue to upset the natural order of things to create something newer and better. Stonewall was only a starting point, but the end is still very far away...

ooo

In order to defeat nature, one must be unnatural. As unnatural as possible, in fact. Just like all of the great heroes in the Before Times. No one ever changed the world by being normal or natural, after all. The only way for something brilliant to happen in history is for a revolutionary to take the lead. And the only way to be revolutionary is to be different, and against nature. Against the natural order of things. Then even after a new natural order is given, the best thing one can do is to keep the wheels turning and keep the fire burning. A true revolution never rests or dies. Stonewall was only just the beginning…

Now it is time to turn this very story against its nature and ask: maybe Stonewall and its famous riot wasn't so against nature after all. Maybe it was totally in-line all along and maybe the true unnatural ones were all the ones who dared to oppose its occurrence. After all, change and rebellion are very natural. It is with the natural order of things to be chaotic and turbulent. From the genesis of the universe, the Big Bang, change has been the law of nature. Humans did not live peacefully on Earth, but instead, even from the very dawn of time, they had needed to struggle and fight for every chance of survival that was offered to them. Going off of this idea, then, perhaps the Stonewall rebellion was natural all along and nothing more than a small manifestation of a law of nature already visible on much larger and older scales, starting from the Big Bang itself.

And HUMAN nature is a very fickle thing. It seeks order and freedom, uniformity and diversity, at the same time. Human nature gravitates towards power and pleasure, towards things that benefit it in some way. What if, then, rebellion is what satisfies that need? If rebellion is was will benefit humanity, then won't rebellion be what happens as a result? If that is the case then, perhaps Stonewall was always destined to happen in some way. It was natural all along... Life itself is a rebellion and there is nothing more natural than life. Maybe the Stonewall Uprising was always within nature's bounds, a natural progression of what happens when humans are pushed to the edge. After all, it is very much in line with the natural order for things to be chaotic, turbulent and changing. If that is the case, then, perhaps liberation was always destined to happen, because what is more natural than a turbulent world? Maybe the riots weren't so against nature after all.

Maybe the rebellion was just a reshuffling of the deck, because change is nature, after all. And things are still changing even today. So is it natural or not? Maybe, all along, the cops and all who stood against queer folk were the unnatural ones. And maybe outcasts of Stonewall were always a part of nature, the rebellion just gave them the strength to find their place within it.


	30. Lafontaine: Magic

For the longest time, Lafontaine considered themself an intellect, a champion of raw wit and intelligence. They considered themself a scientist and academic, with a flawless GPA and plenty of complex science to their name. They were smart, nerdy, studious and every other word out there used to describe science freaks and education-lovers such as themself.

But for all of that science and knowledge and learning and observation, they also held a deep belief in magic. Ever since stepping onto Silas' campus, they felt an undeniable pull that this university was far more than what it seemed. This campus was no mere campus, but one rife with magic. Magic ran in its very veins, through the grounds and in and out of all the buildings. Lafontaine was sure of it!

But how funny it was to think and say, that they, a scientist, also believed in magic. It was a rare day for a person of hard proof to believe in things that only existed in the world of fairytales, but Lafontaine most definitely believed in magic. They believed that magic and science could and did exist in parallel, sometimes intertwining and sometimes running side by side. In their mind, it was totally plausible for two seemingly opposition forces to exist together at the same time. Why not? Life resides beside death and love with hate, so why not magic and science? Besides, one of their best friends was a vampire, so it wasn't like their belief in magic was entirely unfounded.

But even if it had been, and even if magic really was all only ever a thing of superstition, Lafontaine still liked the idea of magic and science coexisting harmoniously. But that was perhaps because they, themself, was somewhat of an example of different things coexisting harmoniously. As a nonbinary person, Lafontaine had never fit into any one specific category or label. They had never felt at home in any of the preexisting boxes that the world had already set out. Lafontaine always felt somewhat lost in that area, somehow both between and outside of this gender binary entirely.

Even from a younger age, Lafontaine had known that they were different, they just hadn't had the words to describe it. But there was always something a little in between and outside about them. Born female, gendered, named, shown and treated as a girl, yet never quite truly feeling the part. Too masculine, didn't feel feminine. But at the same time, didn't feel like a male or man either. Something in between, and outside. Neither of the two offered genders appealed to Lafontaine and even though it took a long time for a word to finally be applied to this feeling, it did come eventually: nonbinary.

"Nonbinary, I am nonbinary!" Lafontaine murmured as they stared at themself in a mirror. Just like some magic word, it all became clear then. Of course, gender was still confusing and Lafontaine didn't know EVERYTHING about who they were, but that one simple word acted almost like an incantation that brought forward so many answers that finally made sense. They still didn't have a full picture, but at least they had a starting point. Nonbinary, they were nonbinary. And from that day forward, their transition began.

It was slow going at first and they went under a complete change of style, cutting their hair, renaming themself and changing their fashion, but every new change felt like a step closer to home, to the real Lafontaine. Like magic, things began to change for them and they felt more at home than ever before. Of course, they also studied the science side of all of this, studying dysphoria, being transgender, the chemical science of hormones and surgery.

But just because they'd started their transition during their first year of college, their identity would always forever be a little bit tied to magic. It had been this magic school that gave them their first friends and supporters after all. People back home weren't always so accepting, unable to see how a human could NOT just be a boy or a girl. It had been the school that gave Lafontaine the support they needed to carry on in their transition and even though they knew full well about the science side of being trans, there always seemed to be something a little bit magical about it. Because of that, and because of the fact that Lafontaine could personally identify with different elements coexisting in one entity, they were more than able to comprehend the balance of science and magic. As far as they were concerned, the two were not mutually exclusive and it was an inaccuracy to label them as such.

The world was far more complex than it seemed at first glance, so why try to organize and categorize in such a basic and simplistic way? There was so much more to all of it, and the only way to fully appreciate and understand was to start seeing things a little bit differently and start tearing down old ways and old binaries. The world was not just black and white, but an entire spectrum of colors. Magic and science were no more oppositional than male and female. There could be overlap and places where the borderlines could blur.

After all, how many times was old science considered magic? The ability to fly was long since considered a witchy attribute, but then the airplane came along. As time changed, so did hearts and minds. Magic became science, but magic still existed as an individual apart from science, but that individual was not always oppositional to science. Or at least, it didn't have to be. Not as far as Lafontaine was concerned.

"If nothing is so set and simple, why do we categorize it as such?" they asked. "There is more than just boy and girl and the two are not always perfect opposites either. The same applies to magic and science, who can work together quite wonderfully when an intelligent mind is behind the wheel!"

So now the question was not science vs magic (or boy vs girl), but how to get the rest of the world to see that this binary was false. It was going to be a tricky battle, but with science and magic both on their side, Lafontaine was certain that they could achieve victory in the end, changing hearts and minds once more, and that would be the most magical thing of all.


	31. Tempest X Gale: Serenity

It was here! It was finally here! The day of what was sure to be one of the most legendary Pride Parades ever was finally here!

"Come on, Tempest! We're gonna be late!" Gale hopped from foot to foot anxiously, peering out the window. He wanted to leave now before all the city's parking spots were taken. Tempest, however, was far calmer than he.

"Relax," she soothed him as she pulled on her pride flag. The stripes were black, gray, white and purple descending. Gale was wearing a flag as well, but not in the typical manner. Instead of wearing one like a cape, he'd duct taped one to his back so that the flag waved right over his head. It read "Straight, But Don't Hate!" in rainbow.

"But Tempest!" Gale whined. "The traffic-"

"Will be terrible already because no matter how early we go, some people have been camped out in the city for days now," Tempest interrupted him calmly, finishing his sentence for him.

"Ok, ok," Gale shuffled his feet awkwardly with a resigned sigh. He knew his wife was right. No matter when they left, traffic was going to be a nightmare. But still! He did want to make it to the city eventually…

His wish was granted many hours later. Getting to the city was easy, parking was hard. The traffic was terrifying and the open spots were sparse. Luckily, though, the couple did manage to find a place. But not before a few cuss words, a lot of honking and almost two and a half meltdowns. But while Gale panicked and fretted, Tempest remained calm. She had always been a natural pacifist at heart and Gale envied her especially today. There was a reason why she was the one that was driving and not him, because only she had the patients needed to survive busy city traffic. While he fought the urge to flip off half the drives they passed, or who passed them, Tempest only calmly navigated the crowded roads and intersections until she finally found a place to put their car. By some miracle, they made it out without a single accident.

But even after the pair got parked, they had needed to trudge through the city to reach the parade and since it was June 30th in the city, it was a scorcher of a day. And the parade was, unfortunately, a good walk away from their parking space.

"I'm gonna melt!" Gale panted as he and Tempest followed a cluster of rainbows southward. For once, Tempest looked just as exhausted (even though it still wasn't even midday yet), but she tried her best to calm Gale down as they all trudged forward under the boiling sun.

"Don't worry, there will likely be a lot of water once we get there," she panted as they all continued to walk down the sidewalks towards the parade and fair grounds. It took all Gale had to not remind Tempest that the water probably wasn't going to be free. And even if it was, they still weren't even halfway there yet.

But they both survived the walk over and managed to find the parade. Sadly, though, that was no less stressful than the rest of the day had been thus far. For one thing, it was insanely crowded, which meant that it was loud and hot. For another, it was mildly disorganized. The people marching in the parade did their best, but there was just so many of them that chaos erupted every other minute or so. People argued, shouted, got lost and constantly asked what they were supposed to be doing or where they were supposed to be going. It was hectic, to say the least, all of the sweaty bodies jostling up against one another as they tried to get into some semblance of a formation.

"We're lost again!" Gale muttered as he looked at his phone again. Stupid GPS! The thing kept shooting him all over the city and refused to show him his true location. But all he needed was for Tempest to touch his arm and he became calm once again. He knew how special this day was to her and he didn't want to ruin it with his constant whining. He'd done enough of that already, and he felt bad. But he was just so nervous! There was so much to do and so much that could go wrong and there was no time to study any of it! But Gale forced himself to calm down again, for Tempest's sake. She deserved to have a good day and his temper was very much a worthy sacrifice to that cause.

But even once the parade finally started, everyone in their rightful place at long, long last, there was still a lot of noise and chaos. It was like trying to herd cats. Thousands of wild, sweaty, sexy, sexual, gay cats.

"Urgh!" Gale grunted as he was bumped into yet again. He was almost run over by a bike rider a few seconds prior and the floats were a constant danger because people kept stopping in front of them for pictures and selfies. Gale was sure he wouldn't make it out of this parade alive. And of course there were the obligatory protestors, their signs and megaphones held high as they insisted that every person participating in the parade was either living in sin, or condoning it. Either way, it was wrong. Books were thumped, arguments were shouted, and even Gale looked close to jumping in, but Tempest stopped him once again.

"Let them preach, there are far more of us than there are of them, take comfort in that," she advised, looking at the protestors with a smile, a knowing twinkle in her light green eyes. No matter how loud they shouted, love, laughter and music would drown them out and send then crawling back to the pits of hypocrisy, self-righteous indignation, anger and offense from which they had come. She was able to rest easy in the fact that while there were about 30 protestors, there were thousands of Pride-goers.

Then once the parade finished, there was a hullabaloo about how to get the paraders away to safety while the other observes could go join the festivities. Floats were driven away, drag queens had to be escorted safely through a literal sea of people, organizers shouted in attempt to maintain order and efficacy. Gale was trying to make sure no one was squashed by a float while Tempest was trying to direct them back to the place where they were to park. And all around, the parade watchers were trying to make their way to the fair gates, pushing against the tide as the paraders tried to move away from the hustle and bustle and get to some place even slightly less crowded. Gale's patience was worn thin and it was still relatively early in the afternoon.

In the end, however, it was Tempest who managed to calm him down once again, just like always. She saw how close he looked to losing his head and snapping, so she reminded him of something very important.

"I know Pride is a busy and stressful time of year, but you're forgetting something," she said. "You're forgetting serenity and pride. We have this march for a reason, and it's not just because of obligation, ritual, aesthetic, or summer fun. It's a march done in remembrance, honor and reaffirmation. This parade is more than just a rainbow of going through the motions, this march is symbolic. This is OUR parade, OUR day, OUR celebration. This is a day for us, to come out and come together. We are supposed to be truly brave, free and happy here. I know it's been stressful and I know we can't just brush all of the technicalities aside, but please don't get caught up on all the little things. That's not what this event is about. We came here to have fun, and be our most authentic selves. We did all of this for a reason beyond tradition. We did it for us. Now we deserve to see and enjoy the fruit of our labor. Don't forget that. Don't forget serenity."

And in that one little speech, Gale understood. He had been so caught up in trying to make everything perfect and survive the chaos of Pride that he almost forgot what Pride was really about! And he had grumbled and groaned instead of remembering who he was and why he was here: support. He was here to support and show pride, not just to try and make everything go off without a hitch! If he was, he was trying too hard and he was totally missing the point of Pride.

Tempest's words resonated with him then and finally, for the first time that day, he took a deep breath and remembered to stop and breathe and live, he remembered to enjoy and be happy. He remembered to be proud and serene. And it was all thanks to Tempest. But wasn't it always? His beloved wife, whom he was so proud of, and proud to be with upon this truly glorious, happy and proud day. Serenity washed over him like a wave and for the first time that day, he truly began to unwind and have fun, finally delving into the fruit off all of his labors, and boy weren't they wonderful!

**AN: Written in honor of the NYC 2019 pride parade I'm going to today, which is sure to be crowded as all get out. I want to take a moment to remember why I'm really here, and it isn't just for the aesthetic, or to add a new gay notch into my rainbow belt, but because this is where I truly belong and want to be.**


	32. Iris: Spirit

**AN: If anyone has ever read my "Seeing Purple" story, they know Iris has the power to decay anything she comes into contact with if she so chooses, but in a very early draft of the story, I instead gave her the power to speak to ghosts. This fic brings that original power back into play since it didn't make the final cut. **

**Also, hope everyone had a safe and happy Pride! I know I did! And even though it's all over now, don't ever stop being queer! We need to be gay enough to get us through another year, then we can recharge when June, 2020 rolls around, lol. But goodbye for now!**

Iris stood before the Stonewall Inn and felt a strange mix of awe and almost-amusement. Although, of course, to some degree, she felt honored to be standing in the place where it all began, it just looked so typical and normal that it was almost hard for her to believe that THIS was the place where, 50 years ago, the outcasts of the world finally rose up and said "ENOUGH! NO MORE!". In the warm summer sunlight, it looked nothing like a battle ground or place of revolution. It just looked like another old bar on a street lined with other old bars. Normal New Yorkers passed by on the streets behind her as she continued to stare up at the small, plain building.

"Are you really where it all started?" she asked it, though she already knew the answer. "You, who seem so plain and simple now. You were where it all began?" and that was when she got an idea…

There were no Stonewall survivors that she could speak with at the moment, but being who she was, she didn't always need to speak with survivors in order to get a story... Purple eyes began to glow as Iris focused hard, searching the area for any restless or lonely spirits. She knew better than anyone that not every person who died passed away into the afterlife. Some managed to stay back, lingering between two worlds, in a limbo only they could see. Her Gift, however, allowed her to see these lingering spirits sometimes, and even if there were none in her immediate vicinity, she had the strength to bring them back anyway. She could summon them up from the deepest gravest and the longest sleeps if she so chose. She didn't do it often, but today, she figured it couldn't hurt...

"Judy Garland, Marsha P. Johnson, Sylvia Riveras, Stormé DeLarverie, Harvey Milk, Gilbert Baker!" not everyone Iris tried to summon had been involved with Stonewall directly, but the ones whom she could think of off the top of her head had all, in some way, shape or form, helped the uprising start and spread. One by one, the ghosts she called returned to the land of the living, their pearlescent figures appearing on the street behind her. They all looked very surprised to be back, but it didn't take them long to understand.

For the next couple of hours, then, Iris and her spirit friends talked. They sat beside the doors of Stonewall and talked. About everything and nothing, they talked. They talked about sexuality, gender, revolution, bars, songs, queerness, laughter, strife, suffering, triumph, life, death, love, hatred, politics, philosophy, and everything in between. And all along the way, Iris called up more and more ghosts and spirits as the situation demanded of her. Suddenly, she was trapped in a sea of dead people and, just for a moment, as she peered through their pearly figures, she could see how and why Stonewall was deemed a riot. The entire street was filled with people again, even if they were people that only she could see.

Of course Iris knew about the violence, war, gore, anger, hatred and police brutality, but to see the streets slowly but surely filling up again made her realize that no matter how small and local the fight might've been, it was still a huge thing. Surrounded by all of these fallen heroes, soldiers and icons made Iris finally understand the magnitude of what had happened that night about 50 years ago. She finally got to see how many people really were involved in the riots, not just personally, but before and after as well. It all came together right before her very eyes and it was something no other human could ever truly understand. All of that power, growing and growing, until it finally ignited into the riot heard around the world. And now all of them were back again, standing before Iris, filling up the streets once more, and she got to see it happen.

And all through Iris' talk with the dead, they continually reaffirmed the virtues of spirit. Of strength, courage and determination. Although anger, fear and desperation were part of what drove the initial riots, it was spirit that helped them carry on through and last for the next 50 years. Spirit, the ghosts said, was one of the most important traits a Stonewaller could possess. Without it, the fire of revolution would've slowly died out. But the fact that, half a century later, stories were still being told was proof that the revolt was far from finished. But what could've carried multiple generations of people to continue this battle and expand its horizons? Spirit. Spirit was what drove the movement, starting from even before 1969 and extending well past it into 2019.

Across history, spirit was what drove humanity to fight and win. And it was the queer spirit that rippled through time that led up to the uprising and then all of the activism that came after it. From the initial gay liberation to the inclusion of trans people and people of color to the inclusion of people of all races, religions and migrant statuses, and beyond, it was a never-ending war and it was spirit that helped carry the brave warriors through. Even if anger and hope sparked the revolution, it was spirit that sustained and fanned the flames. It was spirit that helped them survive, fight, then survive again. It was spirit that fueled these ghosts of gay histories past and it was spirit, they all hoped, that would fuel the generations and queer heroes of the future.

"We hope that this spirit will carry you through too," the ghosts told Iris. "The fire cannot die with you, so please take our spirits along with yours and use us all to keep up your strength as you take up our flag and continue to fight, and to win! You're going to need every bit of courage and drive that you can find, so take our spirits with yours and be ready to stand proud and tall!" they all told her. "Then once your sun has set, give your spirit and ours to the next generation. Help keep the wheels turning and inspire the future with what you do today. Keep the spirit alive so that you can pass it down when your day comes..."

And long after Iris was forced to dismiss the spirits once again, sending them back to their resting places, their words stayed ringing in her ears. Even though equality was getting better, the battle was still very far from over. And there were so many new dimensions to the battle now too. She still had a lot left she could offer the world. She was going to need all the spirit she could muster, not just for herself, but for everyone else engaged in the everlasting uprising. They would need spirit not just to keep their strengths up or their awareness alive, but because they needed to pass history on through themselves and to the next generation until the very end of the line. Now it was Iris' turn and she swore that one day, her spirit would join the others, and then it would be up to her descendants to carry on the spirit, just as she had before them, and all the way unto the very end…


End file.
